PATCHWORK 

A  STORY  OF 
"THE  PLAIN  PEOPLE" 


ANNA  BALMER  MYERS 


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Llr 


•TY   Ol 

i-l'A 

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UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 
Donated  in  memory  of 

John  W.    Snvder 

by 

His  Son  and  Daughter 


"OH,   LOOK   AT  THIS — AND   THIS!" 


PATCHWORK 

A  Story  of 
"The  Plain  People" 


By 

ANNA  BALMER   MYERS 


PHILADELPHIA 
GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1920,  by 
GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 
Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


70  my  Mother  and  Father 
this  book  is  lovingly  inscribed 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

I.  CALICO  PATCHWORK  .        . 

II.  OLD  AARON'S  FLAG          .... 

III.  LITTLE  DUTCHIE     .  .        .         . 

IV.  THE  NEW  TEACHER        .... 
V.  THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD          .        . 

VI.  THE  PRIMA  DONNA  OF  THE  ATTIC  . 

VII.  "  WHERE  THE  BROOK  AND  RIVER  MEET  " 

VIII.  BEYOND  THE  ALPS  LIES  ITALY 

IX.  A  VISIT  TO  MOTHER  BAB 

X.  AN  OLD-FASHIONED  COUNTRY  SALE 

XI.  "THE  BRIGHT  LEXICON  OF  YOUTH  " 

XII.  THE  PREACHER'S  WOOING 

XIII.  THE  SCARLET  TANAGER  .... 

XIV.  ALADDIN'S  LAMP     ..... 
XV.  THE  FLEDGLING'S  FLIGHT        .        . 

XVI.  PHCEBE'S  DIARY 

XVII.  DIARY — THE  NEW  HOME 

XVIII.  DIARY — THE  Music  MASTER  . 

XIX.  DIARY — THE  FIRST  LESSON 

XX.  DIARY — SEEING  THE  CITY 

XXI.  DIARY — CHRYSALIS          .        .        .        . 

XXII.  DIARY — TRANSFORMATION       .         .         . 

XXIII.  DIARY — PLAIN  FOR  A  NIGHT  . 

XXIV.  DIARY — DECLARATIONS    .... 
XXV.  DIARY — "  THE   LINK  MUST  BREAK  AND 

THE  LAMP  MUST  DIE  "  , 


PAGE 


119 

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189 
203 

207 

212 
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226 
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240 

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251 
256 

26l 


10 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXVI.  "  HAME'S  BEST  "         .... 

XXVII.  TRAILING  ARBUTUS      .... 

XXVIII.  MOTHER  BAB  AND  HER  SON 

XXIX.     PREPARATIONS 

XXX.  THE  FEAST  OF  ROSES   .... 

XXXI.     BLINDNESS 

XXXII.  OFF  TO  THE  NAVY       .... 

XXXIII.  THE  ONE  CHANCE       .... 

XXXIV.  BUSY  DAYS 

XXXV.     DAVID'S  SHARE 

XXXVI.  DAVID'S  RETURN 

XXXVII.  "  A  LOVE  THAT  LIFE  COULD  NEVER 

1  IRE    ...... 


PACK 
268 
27I 
284 
291 
295 

303 
310 

315 

3'9 


331 


Illustrations 

"  Oh,  look  at  this — and  this  !  "  .  .  .  Frontispiece 
"I  could  just  skip  and  skip  and  skip — "  Facing  page  26 
Phoebe  hung  her  head,  abashed  .  "  "  104 

"  It's  a  tanager,"  said  Phoebe.     "  Isn't  he 

lovely  !  " «         "196 


Patchwork 


CALICO  PATCHWORK 

THE  gorgeous  sunshine  of  a  perfect  June  morning 
invited  to  the  great  outdoors.  Exquisite  perfume 
from  myriad  blossoms  tempted  lovers  of  nature  to  get 
away  from  cramped,  man-made  buildings,  out  under 
the  blue  roof  of  heaven,  and  revel  in  the  lavish 
splendor  of  the  day. 

This  call  of  the  Junetide  came  loudly  and  insistently 
to  a  little  girl  as  she  sat  in  the  sitting-room  of  a  pros- 
perous farm-house  in  Lancaster  County,  Pennsylvania, 
and  sewed  gaily-colored  pieces  of  red  and  green  calico 
into  patchwork. 

"  Ach,  my ! "  she  sighed,  with  all  the  dreariness 
which  a  ten-year-old  is  capable  of  feeling,  "  why  must 
I  patch  when  it's  so  nice  out?  I  just  ain't  goin'  to  sew 
no  more  to-day !  " 

She  rose,  folded  her  work  and  laid  it  in  her 
plaited  rush  sewing-basket.  Then  she  stood  for  a 
moment,  irresolute,  and  listened  to  the  sounds  issu- 
ing from  the  next  room.  She  could  hear  her  Aunt 
Maria  bustle  about  the  big  kitchen. 


i4  PATCHWORK 

"Ach,  I  ain't  afraid!" 

The  child  opened  the  door  and  entered  the 
kitchen,  where  the  odor  of  boiling  strawberry  pre- 
serves proclaimed  the  cause  of  the  aunt's  activity. 

Maria  Metz  was,  at  fifty,  robust  and  comely,  with 
black  hair  very  slightly  streaked  with  gray,  cheeks 
that  retained  traces  of  the  rosy  coloring  of  her 
girlhood,  and  flashing  black  eyes  meeting  squarely 
the  looks  of  all  with  whom  she  came  in  contact. 
She  was  a  member  of  the  Church  of  the  Brethren 
and  wore  the  quaint  garb  adopted  by  the  women  of 
that  sect.  Her  dress  of  black  calico  was  perfectly 
plain.  The  tight  waist  was  half  concealed  by  a 
long,  pointed  cape  which  fell  over  her  shoulders 
and  touched  the  waistline  back  and  front,  where  a 
full  apron  of  blue  and  white  checked  gingham  was 
tied  securely.  Her  dark  hair  was  parted  and  smoothly 
drawn  under  a  cap  of  white  lawn.  She  was  a  pic- 
turesque figure  but  totally  unconscious  of  it,  for  the 
section  of  Pennsylvania  in  which  she  lived  has  been 
for  generations  the  home  of  a  multitude  of  women 
similarly  garbed — members  of  the  plain  sects,  as  the 
Mennonites,  Amish,  Brethren  in  Christ,  and  Church 
of  the  Brethren,  are  commonly  called  in  the  com- 
munities in  which  they  flourish. 

As  the  child  appeared  in  the  doorway  her  aunt 
turned. 

"  So,"  the  woman  said  pleasantly,  "  you  worked 
vonderful  quick  to-day  once,  Phcebe.  Why,  you  got 
your  patches  done  soon — did  you  make  little  stitches 
like  I  told  you?" 


CALICO  PATCHWORK  15 

"  I  ain't  got  'em  done ! "  The  child  stood  erect,  a 
defiant  little  figure,  her  blue  eyes  grown  dark  with  the 
moment's  tenseness.  "  I  ain't  goin'  to  sew  no  more 
when  it's  so  nice  out!  I  want  to  be  out  in  the  yard, 
that's  what  I  want.  I  just  hate  this  here  patchin' 
to-day,  that's  what  I  do !  " 

Maria  Metz  carefully  wiped  the  strawberry  juice 
from  her  fingers,  then  she  stood  before  the  little  girl 
like  a  veritable  tower  of  amazement  and  strength. 

"  Phoebe,"  she  said  after  a  moment's  struggle  to 
control  her  wrath,  "  you  ain't  big  enough  nor  old 
enough  yet  to  tell  me  what  you  ain't  goin'  to  do! 
How  many  patches  did  you  make  ?  " 

"  Three." 

"  And  you  know  I  said  you  shall  make  four  every 
day  still  so  you  get  the  quilt  done  this  summer  yet  and 
ready  to  quilt.  You  go  and  finish  them." 

"  I  don't  want  to."  Phoebe  shook  her  head  stub- 
bornly. "  I  want  to  play  out  in  the  yard." 

"  When  you're  done  with  the  patches,  not  before ! 
You  know  you  must  learn  to  sew.  Why,  Phoebe,"  the 
woman  changed  her  tactics,  "  you  used  to  like  to  sew 
still.  When  you  was  just  five  years  old  you  cried  for 
goods  and  needle  and  I  pinned  the  patches  on  the  little 
sewing-bird  that  belonged  to  Granny  Metz  still  and 
screwed  the  bird  on  the  table  and  you  sewed  that  nice ! 
And  now  you  don't  want  to  do  no  more  patches — how 
will  you  ever  get  your  big  chest  full  of  nice  quilts  if 
you  don't  patch  ?  " 

But  the  child  was  too  thoroughly  possessed  with  the 
desire  to  be  outdoors  to  be  won  by  any  pleading  or 


16  PATCHWORK 

praise.  She  pulled  savagely  at  the  two  long  braids 
which  hung  over  her  shoulders  and  cried,  "  I  don't 
want  no  quilts !  I  don't  want  no  chests !  I  don't  like 
red  and  green  quilts,  anyhow — never,  never!  I  wish 
my  pop  would  come  in;  he  wouldn't  make  me  sew 
patches,  he  " — she  began  to  sob — "  I  wish,  I  just  wish 
I  had  a  mom!  She  wouldn't  make  me  sew  calico 
when — when  I  want  to  play." 

Something  in  the  utter  unhappiness  of  the  little  girl, 
together  with  the  words  of  yearning  for  the  dead 
mother,  filled  the  woman  with  a  strange  tenderness. 
Though  she  never  allowed  sentiment  to  sway  her  from 
doing  what  she  considered  her  duty  she  did  yield  to 
its  influence  and  spoke  gently  to  the  agitated  child. 

"  I  wish,  too,  your  mom  was  here  yet,  Phoebe.  But 
I  guess  if  she  was  she'd  want  you  to  learn  to  sew. 
Ach,  it's  just  that  you  like  to  be  out,  out  all  the  time 
that  makes  you  so  contrary,  I  guess.  You're  like  your 
pop,  if  you  can  just  be  out!  Mebbe  when  you're  old 
as  I  once  and  had  your  back  near  broke  often  as  I  had 
with  hoein'  and  weedin'  and  plantin'  in  the  garden 
you'll  be  glad  when  you  can  set  in  the  house  and  sew. 
Ach,  now,  stop  your  cryin'  and  go  finish  your  patchin' 
and  when  you're  done  I'll  leave  you  go  in  to  Green- 
wald  for  me  to  the  store  and  to  Granny  Hogendobler." 

"  Oh  " — the  child  lifted  her  tear-stained  face — "  and 
dare  I  really  go  to  Greenwald  when  I'm  done  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  need  some  sugar  yet  and  you  dare  order 
it.  And  you  can  get  me  some  thread  and  then  stop  at 
Granny  Hogenclobler's  and  ask  her  to  come  out  to- 
morrow and  help  with  the  strawberry  jelly.  I  got  so 


CALICO  PATCHWORK  17 

much  to  make  and  it  comes  good  to  Granny  if  she 
gets  away  for  a  little  change." 

"  Then  I'll  patch  quick !  "  Phoebe  said.  The  world 
was  a  good  place  again  for  the  child  as  she  went  back 
to  the  sitting-room  and  resumed  her  sewing. 

She  was  so  eager  to  finish  the  unpleasant  task  that 
she  forgot  one  of  Aunt  Maria's  rules,  as  inexorable  as 
the  law  of  the  Medes  and  Persians — the  door  between 
the  kitchen  and  the  sitting-room  must  be  closed. 

"  Here,  Phoebe,"  the  woman  called  sharply,  "  make 
that  door  shut!  Abody'd  think  you  was  born  in  a 
sawmill!  The  strawberry  smell  gets  all  over  the 
house. " 

Phoebe  turned  alertly  and  closed  the  door.  Then 
she  soliloquized,  "  I  don't  see  why  there  has  to  be 
doors  on  the  inside  of  houses.  I  like  to  smell  the  good 
things  all  over  the  house,  but  then  it's  Aunt  Maria's 
boss,  not  me." 

Maria  Metz  shook  her  head  as  she  returned  to  her 
berries.  "  If  it  don't  beat  all  and  if  I  won't  have  my 
hands  full  yet  with  that  girl  'fore  she's  growed  up! 
That  stubborn  she  is,  like  her  pop — ach,  like  all  of  us 
Metz's,  I  guess.  Anyhow,  it  ain't  easy  raising  some- 
body else's  child.  If  only  her  mom  would  lived,  and 
so  young  she  was  to  die,  too." 

Her  thoughts  went  back  to  the  time  when  her 
brother  Jacob  brought  to  the  old  Metz  farmhouse  his 
gentle,  sweet-faced  bride.  Then  the  joint  persuasions 
of  Jacob  and  his  wife  induced  Maria  Metz  to  continue 
her  residence  in  the  old  homestead.  She  relieved  the 
bride  of  all  the  brunt  of  manual  labor  of  the  farm  and 


18  PATCHWORK 

in  her  capable  way  proved  a  worthy  sister  to  the  new 
mistress  of  the  old  Metz  place.  When,  several  years 
later,  the  gentle  wife  died  and  left  Jacob  the  legacy 
of  a  helpless  babe,  it  was  Maria  Metz  who  took  up  the 
task  of  mothering  the  motherless  child.  If  she 
bungled  at  times  in  the  performance  of  the  mother's 
unfinished  task  it  was  not  from  lack  of  love,  for  she 
loved  the  fair  little  Phoebe  with  a  passion  that  was 
almost  abnormal,  a  passion  which  burned  the  more 
fiercely  because  there  was  seldom  any  outlet  in  demon- 
strative affection. 

As  soon  as  the  child  was  old  enough  Aunt  Maria 
be'gan  to  teach  her  the  doctrines  of  the  plain  church 
and  to  warn  her  against  the  evils  of  vanity,  frivolity 
and  all  forms  of  worldliness. 

Maria  Metz  was  richly  endowed  with  that  admirable 
love  of  industry  which  is  characteristic  of  the  Penn- 
sylvania Dutch.  In  accordance  with  her  acceptance 
of  the  command,  "  Six  days  shalt  thou  labor,"  she 
swept,  scrubbed,  and  toiled  from  early  morning  to 
evening  with  Herculean  persistence.  The  farmhouse 
was  spotless  from  cellar  to  attic,  the  wooden  walks 
and  porches  scrubbed  clean  and  smooth.  Flower  beds, 
vegetable  gardens  and  lawns  were  kept  neat  and  with- 
out weeds.  Aunt  Maria  was,  as  she  expressed  it,  "  not 
afraid  of  work."  Naturally  she  considered  it  her  duty 
to  teach  little  Phoebe  to  be  industrious,  to  sew  neatly, 
to  help  with  light  tasks  about  the  house  and  gardens. 

Like  many  other  good  foster-mothers  Maria  Metz 
tried  conscientiously  to  care  for  the  child's  spiritual 
and  physical  well-being,  but  in  spite  of  her  best  en- 


CALICO  PATCHWORK  19 

deavors  there  were  times  when  she  despaired  of  the 
tremendous  task  she  had  undertaken.  Phoebe's  spirit 
tingled  with  the  divine,  poetic  appreciation  of  all 
things  beautiful.  A  vivid  imagination  carried  the 
child  into  realms  where  the  stolid  aunt  could  not  fol- 
low, realms  of  whose  existence  the  older  woman  never 
dreamed. 

But  what  troubled  Maria  Metz  most  was  the  child's 
frank  avowal  of  vanity.  Every  new  dress  was  a 
source  of  intense  joy  to  Phoebe.  Every  new  ribbon 
for  her  hair,  no  matter  how  narrow  and  dull  of  color, 
sent  her  face  smiling.  The  golden  hair,  which  sprang 
into  long  curls  as  Aunt  Maria  combed  it,  was  invari- 
ably braided  into  two  thick,  tight  braids,  but  there 
were  always  little  wisps  that  curled  about  the  ears  and 
forehead.  These  wisps  were  at  once  the  woman's 
despair  and  the  child's  freely  expressed  delight.  How- 
ever, through  all  the  rigid  discipline  the  little  girl 
retained  her  natural  buoyancy  of  childhood,  the  spon- 
taneous interestedness,  the  cheerfulness  and  animation, 
which  were  a  part  of  her  goodly  heritage. 

That  June  morning  the  world  was  changed  suddenly 
from  a  dismal  vale  of  patchwork  to  a  glorious  garden 
of  delight.  She  was  still  a  child  and  the  promised 
walk  to  Greenwald  changed  the  entire  world  for  her. 

She  paused  once  in  her  sewing  to  look  about  the 
sitting-room.  "  Ach,  I  vender  now  why  this  room 
is  so  ugly  to  me  to-day.  I  guess  it's  because  it's  so 
pretty  out.  Why,  mostly  always  I  think  this  is  a 
vonderful  nice  room." 

The  sitting-room  of  the  Metz  farm  was  attractive 


20  PATCHWORK 

in  its  old-fashioned  furnishing.  It  was  large  and  well 
lighted.  The  gray  rag  carpet — woven  from  rags 
sewed  by  Aunt  Maria  and  Phoebe — was  decorated  with 
wide  stripes  of  green.  Upon  the  carpet  were  spread 
numerous  rugs,  some  made  of  braided  rags  coiled  into 
large  circles,  others  were  hooked  rugs  gaily  orna- 
mented with  birds  and  flowers  and  graceful  scroll 
designs.  The  low-backed  chairs  were  painted  dull 
green  and  each  bore  upon  the  four  inch  panel  of  its 
back  a  hand-painted  floral  design.  On  the  haircloth 
sofa  were  several  crazy-work  cushions.  Two  deep 
rocking-chairs  matched  the  antique  low-backed  chairs. 
A  spindle-legged  cherry  table  bore  an  old  vase  filled 
with  pink  and  red  straw  flowers.  The  large  square 
table,  covered  with  a  red  and  green  cloth,  held  a  glass 
lamp,  the  old  Metz  Bible,  several  hymn-books  and  the 
papers  read  in  that  home, — a  weekly  religious  paper, 
the  weekly  town  paper,  and  a  well-known  farm  journal. 
A  low  walnut  organ  which  Phoebe's  mother  brought 
to  the  farm  and  a  tall  walnut  grandfather  clock,  the 
most  cherished  heirloom  of  the  Metz  family,  occupied 
places  of  honor  in  the  room.  Not  a  single  article  of 
modern  design  could  be  found  in  the  entire  room,  yet 
it  was  an  interesting  and  habitable  place.  Most  of  the 
Metz  furniture  had  stood  in  the  old  homestead  for 
several  generations  and  so  long  as  any  piece  served  its 
purpose  and  continued  to  look  respectable  Aunt  Maria 
would  have  considered  it  gross  extravagance,  even  a 
sacrilege,  to  discard  it  for  one  of  newer  design.  She 
was  satisfied  with  her  house,  her  brother  Jacob  was 
well  pleased  with  the  way  she  kept  it — it  never  oc- 


CALICO  PATCHWORK  21 

curred  to  her  that  Phoebe  might  ever  desire  new  things, 
and  least  of  all  did  she  dream  that  the  girl  sometimes 
spent  an  interesting  hour  refurnishing,  in  imagination, 
the  same  old  sitting-room. 

"  Yes,"  Phoebe  was  saying  to  herself,  "  sometimes 
this  room  is  vonderful  to  me.  Only  I  wished  the 
organ  was  a  piano,  like  the  one  Mary  Warner  got  to 
play  on.  But,  ach,  I  must  hurry  once  and  make  this 
patch  done.  Funny  thing  patchin'  is,  cuttin'  up  big 
pieces  of  good  calico  in  little  ones  and  then  sewin' 
them  up  in  big  ones  again !  I  don't  like  it  " — she  spoke 
very  softly  for  she  knew  her  aunt  disapproved  of  the 
habit  of  talking  to  one's  self — "  I  don't  like  patchin' 
and  I  for  certain  don't  like  red  and  green  quilts!  I 
got  one  on  my  bed  now  and  it  hurts  my  eyes  still  in  the 
morning  when  I  get  awake.  I'd  like  a  pretty  blue  and 
white  one  for  my  bed.  Mebbe  Aunt  Maria  will  leave 
me  make  one  when  I  get  this  one  sewed.  But  now  my 
patch  is  done  and  I  dare  to  go  to  Greenwald.  That's 
a  vonderful  nice  walk." 

A  moment  later  she  stood  again  in  the  big  kitchen. 

"  See,"  she  said,  "  now  I  got  them  all  done.  And 
little  stitches,  too,  so  nobody  won't  catch  their  toes  in 
'em  when  they  sleep,  like  you  used  to  tell  me  still  when 
I  first  begun  to  sew." 

The  woman  smiled.  "  Now  you're  a  good  girl, 
Phoebe.  Put  your  patches  away  nice  and  you  dare  go 
to  Greenwald." 

"Where  all  shall  I  go?" 

"  Go  first  to  Granny  Hogendobler ;  that's  right  on 
the  way  to  the  store.  You  ask  her  to  come  out  to- 


22  PATCHWORK 

morrow  morning  early  if  she  wants  to  help  with  the 
berries." 

"  Dare  I  stay  a  little  ?  " 

"If  you  want.  But  don't  you  go  bringin'  any  more 
slips  of  flowers  to  plant  or  any  seeds.  The  flower 
beds  are  that  full  now  abody  can  hardly  get  in  to 
weed  'em  still." 

"  All  right,  I  won't.  But  I  think  it's  nice  to  have 
lots  and  lots  of  flowers.  When  I  have  a  garden  once 
I'll  have  it  full " 

"  Talk  of  that  some  other  day,"  said  her  aunt. 
"  Get  ready  now  for  town  once.  You  go  to  the  store 
and  ask  'em  to  send  out  twenty  pounds  of  granulated 
sugar.  Jonas,  one  of  the  clerks,  comes  out  this  way 
still  when  he  goes  home  and  he  can  just  as  good  fetch 
it  along  on  his  home  road.  Your  pop  is  too  busy  to 
hitch  up  and  go  in  for  it  and  I  have  no  time  neither 
to-day  and  I  want  it  early  in  the  morning,  and  what  I 
have  is  almost  all.  And  then  you  can  buy  three  spools 
of  white  thread  number  fifty.  And  when  you're  done 
you  dare  look  around  a  little  in  the  store  if  you  don't 
touch  nothing.  On  the  home  road  you  better  stop  in 
the  post-office  and  ask  if  there's  anything.  Nobody 
was  in  yesterday." 

"  All  right — and — Aunt  Maria,  dare  I  wear  my 
hat?" 

"  Ach,  no.  Abody  don't  wear  Sunday  clothes  on  a 
Wednesday  just  to  go  to  Greenwald  to  the  store.  Only 
when  you  go  to  Lancaster  and  on  a  Sunday  you  wear 
your  hat.  You're  dressed  good  enough ;  just  get  your 
sunbonnet,  for  it's  sunny  on  the  road." 


CALICO  PATCHWORK  23 

Phoebe  took  a  small  ruffled  'sunbonnet  of  blue 
checked  gingham  from  a  hook  behind  the  kitchen  door 
and  pressed  it  lightly  on  her  head. 

"  Ach,  bonnets  are  vonderf ul  hot  things !  "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  A  nice  parasol  like  Mary  Warner's  got 
would  be  lots  nicer.  Where's  the  money  ?  "  she  asked 
as  she  saw  a  shadow  of  displeasure  on  her  aunt's 
face. 

"  Here  it  is,  enough  for  the  sugar  and  the  thread. 
Don't  lose  the  pocketbook,  and  be  sure  to  count  the 
change  so  they  don't  make  no  mistake." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  don't  touch  things  in  the  store." 

"  No."  The  child  walked  to  the  door,  impatient  to 
be  off. 

"  And  be  careful  crossin'  over  the  streets.  If  a 
horse  comes,  or  a  bicycle,  wait  till  it's  past,  or  an  auto- 
mobile   " 

"  Ach,  yes,  I'll  be  careful,"  Phoebe  answered. 

A  moment  later  she  went  down  the  boardwalk  that 
led  through  the  yard  to  the  little  green  gate  at  the 
country  road.  There  she  paused  and  looked  back  at 
the  farm  with  its  old-fashioned  house,  her  birthplace 
and  home. 

The  Metz  homestead,  erected  in  the  days  of  home- 
grown flax  and  spinning-wheels,  was  plain  and  unpre- 
tentious. Built  of  gray,  rough-hewn  quarry  stone  it 
hid  like  a  demure  Quakeress  behind  tall  evergreen  trees 
whose  branches  touched  and  interlaced  in  so  many 
places  that  the  traveler  on  the  country  road  caught  but 
mere  glimpses  of  the  big  gray  house. 


24  PATCHWORK 

The  old  home  stood  facing  the  road  that  led  north- 
ward to  the  little  town  of  Greenwald.  Southward 
the  road  curved  and  wound  itself  about  a  steep  hill, 
sent  its  brandies  right  and  left  to  numerous  farms 
while  it,  still  twisting  and  turning,  went  on  to  the 
nearest  city,  Lancaster,  ten  miles  distant. 

The  Metz  farm  was  just  outside  the  southern  limits 
of  the  town  of  Greenwald.  The  spacious  red  barn 
stood  on  the  very  bank  of  Chicques  Creek,  the  bound- 
ary line. 

"  It's  awful  pretty  here  to-day,"  Phoebe  said  aloud 
as  she  looked  from  the  house  with  its  sheltering  trees 
to  the  flower  garden  with  its  roses,  larkspur  and  other 
old-fashioned  flowers,  then  to  the  background  of  un- 
dulating fields  and  hills.  "  It's  just  vonderful  pretty 
here  to-day.  But,  ach,  I  guess  it's  pretty  most  any- 
wheres on  a  day  like  this — but  not  in  the  house.  Ugh, 
that  patchin'!  I  want  to  forget  it." 

As  she  closed  the  gate  and  entered  the  country 
road  she  caught  sight  of  a  familiar  figure  just 
ahead. 

"  Hello,"  she  called.  "  Wait  once,  David !  Is  that 
you?" 

"  No,  it  ain't  me,  it's  my  shadow !  "  came  the  an- 
swer as  a  boy,  several  years  older  than  Phoebe,  turned 
and  waited  for  her. 

"  Ach,  David  Eby,"  she  giggled,  "  you're  just  like 
Aunt  Maria  says  still  you  are — always  cuttin'  up  and 
talkin'  so  abody  don't  know  if  you  mean  it  or  what. 
Coin'  in  to  town,  too,  once  ?  " 

"  Um-uh.     Say,   Phoebe,  you  want  a  rose  to  pin 


CALICO  PATCHWORK  25 

on  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  to  her  with  a  pink  damask 
rose. 

"  Why,  be  sure  I  do !  I  just  like  them  roses  vonder- 
ful  much.  We  got  'em  too,  big  bushes  of  'em,  but 
Aunt  Maria  won't  let  me  pull  none  off.  Where'd  you 
get  yourn  ?  " 

"  We  got  lots.  Mom  lets  me  pull  off  all  I  want. 
You  pin  it  on  and  be  decorated  for  Greenwald.  Where 
all  you  going,  Phoebe  ?  " 

"  And  I  say  thanks,  too,  David,  for  the  rose,"  she 
said  as  she  pinned  the  rose  to  her  dress.  "  Um,  it 
smells  good !  Where  am  I  goin'  ?  "  she  remembered 
his  question.  "  Why,  to  the  store  and  to  Granny 
Hogendobler  and  the  post-office " 

"Jimminy  Crickets!  "  The  boy  stood  still.  "That's 
where  I'm  to  go!  Me  and  mom  both  forgot  about 
it.  Mom  wants  a  money  order  and  said  I'm  to 
get  it  the  first  time  I  go  to  town  and  here  I  am 
without  the  money.  It's  home  up  the  hill  again 
for  me." 

"  Ach,  David,  don't  you  know  that  it's  vonderful 
bad  luck  to  go  back  for  something  when  you  got  started 
once  ?  " 

The  boy  laughed.  "  It  is  bad  luck  to  have  to  climb 
that  hill  again.  But  mom'll  say  what  I  ain't  got  in  my 
head  I  got  to  have  in  my  feet.  They're  big  enough 
to  hold  a  lot,  too,  Phoebe,  ain't  they?  " 

She  giggled,  then  laughed  merrily.  "  Acfi,"  she 
said,  "  you  say  funny  things.  You  just  make  me 
laugh  all  the  time.  But  it's  mean,  now,  that  you  are 
so  dumb  to  forget  and  have  to  go  back.  I  thought 


26  PATCHWORK 

I'd  have  nice  company  all  the  ways  in,  but  mebbe  I'll 
see  you  in  Green wald." 

"  Mebbe.  Goo'bye,"  said  the  boy  and  turned  to  the 
hill  again. 

Phcebe  stood  a  moment  and  looked  after  him.  "  My," 
she  said  to  herself,  "  but  David  Eby  is  a  vonderful 
nice  boy !  "  Then  she  started  down  the  road,  a  quaint, 
interesting  little  figure  in  her  brown  chambray  dress 
with  its  full,  gathered  skirt  and  its  short,  plain  waist. 
But  the  face  that  looked  out  from  the  blue  sunbonnet 
was  even  more  interesting.  The  blue  eyes,  golden 
hair  and  fair  coloring  of  the  cheeks  held  promise  of  an 
abiding  beauty,  but  more  than  mere  beauty  was 
bounded  by  the  ruffled  sunbonnet.  There  was  an 
eagerness  of  expression,  an  alert  understanding  in  the 
deep  eyes,  a  tender  fluttering  of  the  long  lashes,  an  ever 
varying  animation  in  the  child  face,  as  though  she 
were  standing  on  tiptoe  to  catch  all  the  sunshine  and 
glory  of  the  great,  beautiful  world  about  her. 

Phoebe  went  decorously  down  the  road,  across  the 
wooden  bridge  over  the  Chicques,  then  she  began  to 
skip.  Her  full  skirt  fluttered  in  the  light  wind,  her 
sunbonnet  slipped  back  from  her  head  and  flapped  as 
she  hopped  along  the  half  mile  stretch  of  country  road 
bordered  by  green  fields  and  meadows. 

"  There's  no  houses  here  so  I  dare  skip,"  she  panted 
gleefully.  "  Aunt  Maria  don't  think  it  looks  nice  for 
girls  to  skip,  but  I  like  to  do  it.  I  could  just  skip  and 
skip  and  skip " 

She  stopped  suddenly.  In  a  meadow  to  her  right  a 
tangle  of  bulrushes  edged  a  small  pond  and,  perched 


"I  COULD  JUST  SKIP  AND  SKIP" 


CALICO  PATCHWORK  27 

on  a  swaying  reed,  a  red-winged  blackbird  was  calling 
his  clear,  "  Conqueree,  conqueree." 

"  Oh,  you  pretty  thing !  "  Phoebe  cried  as  she  leaned 
on  the  fence  and  watched  the  bird.  "  You're  just  the 
prettiest  thing  with  them  red  and  yellow  spots  on 
your  wings.  And  you  ain't  afraid  of  me,  not  a  bit.  I 
guess  mebbe  you  know  you  got  wings  and  I  ain't. 
Such  pretty  wings  you  got,  too,  and  the  rest  of  you  is 
all  black  as  coal.  Mebbe  God  made  you  black  all  over 
like  a  crow  and  then  got  sorry  for  you  and  put  some 
pretty  spots  on  your  wings.  I  wonder  now  " — her 
face  sobered — "  I  just  wonder  now  why  Aunt  Maria 
says  still  that  it's  bad  to  fix  up  pretty  with  curls  and 
things  like  that  and  to  wear  fancy  dresses.  Why, 
many  of  the  birds  are  vonderful  fine  in  gay  feathers 
and  the  flowers  are  fancy  and  the  butterflies — ach, 
mebbe  when  I'm  big  I'll  understand  it  better,  or  mebbe 
I'll  dress  up  pretty  then  too." 

With  that  cheering  thought  she  turned  again  to  the 
road  and  resumed  her  walk,  but  the  skipping  mood  had 
fled.  She  pulled  her  sunbonnet  to  its  proper  place 
and  walked  briskly  along,  still  enjoying  thoroughly, 
though  less  exuberantly,  the  beauty  of  the  June  morn- 
ing. 

The  scent  of  pink  clover  mingled  with  the  odor  of 
grasses  and  the  delicate  perfume  of  sweetbrier.  Wood 
sorrel  nestled  in  the  grassy  corners  near  the  crude  rail 
fences,  daisies  and  spiked  toad-flax  grew  lavishly 
among  the  weeds  of  the  roadside.  In  the  meadows 
tall  milkweed  swayed  its  clusters  of  pink  and  lavender, 
marsh-marigolds  dotted  the  grass  with  discs  of  pure 


28  PATCHWORK 

gold,  and  Queen  Anne's  lace  lifted  its  parasols  of  ex- 
quisite loveliness.  Phoebe  reveled  in  it  all ;  her  cheeks 
were  glowing  as  she  left  the  beauty  of  the  country 
behind  her  and  came  at  last  to  the  little  town  of 
Greenwald. 


CHAPTER  II 
OLD  AARON'S  FLAG 

GREENWALD  is  an  old  town  but  it  is  a  delightfully 
interesting  one.  It  does  not  wear  its  antiquity  as  an 
excuse  for  sinking  into  mouldering  uselessness.  It 
presents,  rather,  a  strange  mingling  of  the  quaint,  ro- 
mantic and  historic  with  the  beautiful,  progressive  and 
modern.  Though  it  clings  reverently  to  honored  tra- 
ditions it  is  ever  mindful  of  the  fact  that  the  welfare 
of  its  inhabitants  is  dependent  upon  reasonable  prog- 
ress in  its  religious,  educational  and  industrial  life. 

The  charming  stamp  of  its  antiquity  is  revealed  in 
its  great  old  trees ;  its  wide  Market  Square  from  which 
narrower  streets  branch  to  the  east,  west,  north  and 
south;  its  numerous  houses  of  the  plain,  substantial 
type  of  several  generations  ago;  its  occasional  little, 
low  houses  which  have  withstood  the  march  of  modern 
building  and  stand  squarely  beside  houses  of  more 
elaborate  and  later  design;  but  chiefly  in  its  old- 
fashioned  gardens.  All  the  old-time  flowers  are 
favorites  there  and  refuse  to  be  displaced  by  any  new- 
comer. Sweet  alyssum  and  candytuft  spread  carpets 
of  bloom  along  the  neat  garden  walks,  hollyhocks  and 
dahlias  look  boldly  out  to  the  streets,  while  the  old- 
fashioned  sweet-scented  roses  grow  on  great  bushes 
which  have  been  undisturbed  for  three  or  more  genera- 
tions. 


30  PATCHWORK 

To  Phoebe  Metz,  Greenwald,  with  its  two  thousand 
inhabitants,  its  several  churches,  post-office  and  numer- 
ous stores,  seemed  a  veritable  city.  She  delighted  in 
walking  on  its  brick  sidewalks,  looking  at  its  different 
houses  and  entering  its  stores.  How  many  attractions 
these  stores  held  for  the  little  country  girl!  There 
was  the  big  one  on  the  Square  which  had  in  one  of  its 
windows  a  great  lemon  tree  on  which  grew  real  lemons. 
Another  store  had  a  large  Santa  Claus  in  its  window 
every  Christmas — not  that  Phoebe  Metz  had  ever  been 
taught  to  believe  in  that  patron  saint  of  the  children — 
oh,  no !  Maria  Metz  would  have  considered  it  foolish, 
even  sinful,  to  lie  to  a  child  about  any  mythical  Santa 
Claus  coming  down  the  chimney  Christmas  Eve! 
Nevertheless,  the  smiling,  rotund  face  of  the  red- 
habited  Santa  in  the  store  window  seemed  so  real  and 
so  emanative  of  cheer  that  Phoebe  delighted  in  him 
each  year  and  felt  sure  there  must  be  a  Santa  Claus 
somewhere  in  the  world,  even  though  Aunt  Maria 
knew  nothing  about  him. 

Most  little  towns  can  boast  of  one  or  more  persons 
like  Granny  Hogendobler,  well-nigh  community  owned, 
certainly  community  appropriated.  Did  any  one  need 
a  helper  in  garden  or  kitchen  or  sewing  room,  Granny 
Hogendobler  was  glad  to  serve.  Did  a  housewife 
remember  that  a  rose  geranium  leaf  imparts  to  apple 
jelly  a  delicious  flavor,  Granny  Hogendobler  was  able 
and  willing  to  furnish  the  leaf.  Did  a  lover  of  flowers 
covet  a  new  phlox  or  dahlia  or  other  old-fashioned 
flower,  Granny  Hogendobler  was  ready  to  give  of  her 
stock.  Should  a  young  wife  desire  a  recipe  for  crul- 


OLD  AARON'S  FLAG  31 

lers,  shoo-fly  pie,  or  other  delectable  dish,  Granny  had 
a  wealth  of  reliable  recipes  at  her  tongue's  end.  This 
admirable  desire  to  serve  found  ample  opportunities 
for  exercise  in  the  constant  demands  from  her  friends 
and  neighbors.  But  Granny's  greatest  joy  lay  in  the 
fond  ministrations  for  her  husband,  Old  Aaron,  as 
the  town  people  called  him,  half  pityingly,  half  ac- 
cusingly. For  some  said  Old  Aaron  was  plain,  shift- 
less, had  always  been  so,  would  remain  so  forever,  so 
long  as  he  had  Granny  to  do  for  him.  Others  averred 
that  the  Confederate  bullets  that  had  shattered  his  leg 
into  splinters  and  necessitated  its  amputation  must 
have  gone  astray  and  struck  his  liver — leastways,  that 
was  the  kindest  explanation  they  could  give  for  his 
laziness. 

Granny  stoutly  refuted  all  these  charges — gossip 
travels  in  circles  in  small  towns  and  sooner  or  later 
reaches  those  most  concerned — "Aaron  lazy!  I-to- 
goodness  no!  Why,  he's  old  and  what  for  should  he 
go  out  and  work  every  day,  I  wonder.  He  helps  me 
with  the  garden  and  so,  and  when  I  go  out  to  help 
somebody  for  a  day  or  two  he  gets  his  own  meals  and 
tends  the  chickens  still.  Some  people  thought  a  few 
years  ago  that  he  might  get  work  in  the  foundry,  but  I 
said  I  want  him  at  home  with  me.  He  gets  a  pension 
and  we  can  live  good  on  what  we  have  without  him 
slaving  his  last  years  away,  and  him  with  one  leg  lost 
at  Gettysburg!"  she  ended  proudly. 

So  Old  Aaron  continued  to  live  his  life  as  pleased 
his  mate  and  himself.  He  pottered  about  the  house 
and  garden  and  spent  long  hours  musing  under  the 


32  PATCHWORK 

grape  arbor.  But  there  was  one  day  in  every  year 
when  Old  Aaron  came  into  his  own.  Every  Memo- 
rial Day  he  dressed  in  his  venerated  blue  uniform  and 
carried  the  flag  down  the  dusty  streets  of  Greenwald, 
out  to  the  dustier  road  to  a  spot  a  mile  from  the  heart 
of  the  town,  where,  on  a  sunny  hilltop,  some  of  his 
comrades  rested  in  the  Silent  City. 

Only  the  infirm  and  the  ill  of  the  town  failed  to  run 
to  look  as  the  little  procession  passed  down  the  street. 
There  were  boys  in  khaki,  the  town  band  playing  its 
best,  volunteer  firemen  clad  in  vivid  red  shirts,  a  low, 
hand-drawn  wagon  filled  with  flowers,  an  old  cannon, 
also  hand-drawn,  whose  shots  over  the  graves  of  the 
dead  veterans  would  thrill  as  they  thrilled  every  May 
thirtieth — all  received  attention  and  admiration  from 
the  watchers  of  the  procession.  But  the  real  honors 
of  the  day  were  accorded  the  "  thin  blue  line  of 
heroes,"  and  Old  Aaron  was  one  of  these.  To  Granny 
Hogendobler,  who  walked  with  the  crowd  of  cheering 
children  and  adults  and  kept  step  on  the  sidewalk  with 
the  step  of  the  marchers  on  the  street,  it  was  evident 
that  the  standard  bearer  was  growing  old.  The  steep 
climb  near  the  cemetery  entrance  left  him  breathless 
and  flushed  and  each  year  Granny  thought,  "  It's  get- 
ting too  much  for  him  to  carry  that  flag."  But  each 
returning  year  she  would  have  spurned  as  earnestly  as 
he  any  suggestion  that  another  one  be  chosen  to  carry 
that  flag.  And  so  every  three  hundred  and  sixty-fifth 
day  the  lean  straight  figure  of  Old  Aaron  marched 
directly  under  the  fluttering  folds  of  Old  Glory  and 
the  soldier  became  a  subject  worthy  of  veneration, 


OLD  AARON'S  FLAG  33 

then  with  customary  nonchalance  the  little  town  for- 
got him  again  or  spoke  of  him  as  Old  Aaron,  a  little 
lazy,  a  little  shiftless,  a  little  childish,  and  Granny 
Hogendobler  became  the  more  important  figure  of  that 
household. 

Granny  was  fifteen  years  younger  than  her  husband 
and  was  undeniably  rotund  of  hips  and  face,  the 
former  rotundity  increased  by  her  full  skirts,  the  latter 
accentuated  by  her  style  of  wearing  her  hair  combed 
back  into  a  tight  knot  near  the  top  of  her  head  and 
held  in  place  by  a  huge  black  back-comb. 

From  this  style  of  hair  dressing  it  is  evident  that 
Granny  was  not  a  member  of  any  plain  sect.  She  was, 
as  she  said,  "An  Evangelical,  one  of  the  old  kind  yet. 
I  can  say  Amen  to  the  preacher's  sermon  and  stand  up 
in  prayer-meeting  and  tell  how  the  Lord  has  blessed 
me." 

There  were  some  who  doubted  the  rich  blessing  of 
which  Granny  spoke.  "  I  wouldn't  think  the  Lord 
blessed  me  so  much,"  whispered  one,  "  if  I  had  a  man 
like  Old  Aaron,  though  I  guess  he's  good  enough  to 
her.  And  that  boy  of  theirs  never  comes  home;  he 
must  have  a  funny  streak  in  him  too."  "  But  think  of 
this,"  one  would  answer,  "  how  the  Lord  keeps  her 
cheerful,  kind  and  faithful  through  all  her  troubles." 

Granny's  was  a  wonderful  garden.  She  and  Old 
Aaron  lived  in  a  little  gray  cube  of  a  house  that  had 
its  front  face  set  straight  to  the  edge  of  Charlotte 
Street.  However,  the  north  side  of  the  cube  looked 
into  a  great  green  yard  where  tall  spruce  trees,  over- 
run with  trumpet  vines  and  woodbine,  shaded  long 


34  PATCHWORK 

beds  of  flowers  that  love  semi-shady  places.  The  rear 
of  the  house  overlooked  an  old-fashioned  garden  en- 
closed with  a  white-washed  picket  fence.  Always 
were  there  flowers  at  Granny's  house.  In  the  cold 
days  of  winter  blooming  masses  of  geraniums,  prim- 
roses and  gloxinias  crowded  against  the  little  square 
panes  of  the  windows  and  looked  defiantly  out  at  the 
snow;  while  all  the  old  favorites  grew  in  the  garden, 
from  the  first  March  snowdrop  to  the  late  November 
chrysanthemum.  In  June,  therefore,  the  garden  was 
a  "  Lovesome  spot "  indeed. 

"  It  vonders  me  now  if  Granny's  home,"  thought 
Phoebe  as  she  opened  the  wooden  gate  and  entered  the 
yard. 

"  Here  I  am,"  called  Granny.  "  Back  in  the  garden. 
I-to-goodness,  Phoebe,  did  you  come  once!  I  just 
said  yesterday  to  Aaron  that  I  didn't  see  none  of  you 
folks  for  long,  and  here  you  come !  You  haven't  seen 
the  flowers  for  a  while." 

"  Oh !  "  Phoebe  breathed  an  ecstatic  little  word  of 
delight.  "  Oh,  your  garden  is  just  vonderful  pretty!  " 

"Ain't,"  agreed  Granny.  "Aaron  and  me's  been 
working  pretty  hard  in  it  these  weeks.  There  he  is, 
out  in  the  potato  patch ;  see  him  ?  " 

Phoebe  stood  on  tiptoe  and  looked  where  Granny's 
finger  pointed  to  the  extreme  end  of  the  long  vege- 
table garden,  where  the  white  head  of  Old  Aaron  was 
bending  over  his  hoeing. 

"  He's  hoeing  the  potatoes,"  Granny  explained. 
"  He  don't  see  you.  But  he'll  soon  be  done  and 
come  in.'* 


OLD  AARON'S  FLAG  35 

"  What  were  you  doin'  ?  "  asked  the  child. 

"  Weeding  the  flag." 

"  Weedin'  the  flag — what  do  you  mean?  "  Phoebe's 
eyes  lighted  with  eagerness.  "  I  guess  you  mean 
mendin'  the  flag,  Granny."  She  looked  toward  the 
porch  as  if  in  search  of  Old  Glory. 

"  I  said  weeding  the  flag,"  the  woman  insisted.  "  It's 
an  idea  of  Aaron's  and  I  guess  I'll  tell  you  about  it, 
seeing  your  eyes  are  open  so  wide.  See  the  poppies, 
that  long  stretch  of  them  in  the  middle  of  the  garden?  " 

"  Um-uh,"  nodded  Phoebe. 

"  Well,  that  patch  at  the  back  is  all  red  poppies,  the 
buds  just  coming  on  them  nice  and  big.  Then  right 
in  front  of  them  is  another  patch  of  white  poppies; 
the  buds  are  thick  on  them,  too.  And  right  in  front 
of  them — you  see  what's  there!  " 

"  Larkspur,  blue  larkspur !  "  cried  Phoebe.  "  Oh,  I 
see — it's  red,  white  and  blue !  You'll  have  it  all  sum- 
mer in  your  garden !  " 

"  Yes.  When  it  blooms  it'll  be  a  grand  sight.  I 
said  to  Aaron  that  we'll  have  all  the  children  of  Green- 
wald  in  looking  at  his  flag  and  he  said  he  hopes  so,  for 
they  couldn't  look  at  anything  better  than  the  colors 
of  Old  Glory.  Aaron's  crazy  about  the  flag." 

".'Cause  he  fought  for  it,  mebbe." 

"  Yes,  I  guess.  His  father  died  for  it  at  Gettysburg, 
the  same  place  where  Aaron  lost  his  leg.  .  .  .  The. 
only  thing  is,  the  larkspur's  getting  ahead  of  the  pop- 
pies— seems  like  the  larkspur  couldn't  wait  " — her 
voice  continued  low — "  I  always  love  to  see  the  lark- 
spur come." 


36  PATCHWORK 

"  I  too,"  said  the  child.  "  I  like  to  pull  out  the  little 
slippers  from  the  middle  of  the  flowers  and  fit  'em 
into  each  other  and  make  circles  with  'em.  I  made  a 
lot  last  summer  and  pressed  'em  in  a  book,  but  Aunt 
Maria  made  me  stop." 

"  That's  just  what  Nason  used  to  do.  I  have  some 
pressed  in  the  big  Bible  yet  that  he  made  when  he  was 
a  little  boy."  She  spoke  half -absently,  as  though 
momentarily  forgetful  of  the  child's  presence. 

"  Who's  Nason?  "  asked  Phoebe. 

Granny  started.  "  I-to-goodness,  Phoebe,  I  forgot ! 
You  don't  know  him,  never  heard  of  him,  I  guess. 
He's  our  boy.  We  had  a  little  girl,  too,  but  she  died." 

"  Did  the  boy  die  too,  Granny  ?  " 

"  No,  ach  no !  You  wouldn't  understand.  He's 
living  in  the  city.  He  writes  to  me  often  but  he  don't 
come  home.  He  and  his  pop  fell  out  about  the  flag 
once  when  Nason  was  young  and  foolish  and  they're 
both  too  stubborn  to  forget  it." 

"  But  he'll  come  back  some  day  and  live  with  you, 
of  course,  won't  he?  "  Phoebe  comforted  her. 

"  Yes — some  day  they'll  see  things  different.  But 
now  don't  you  bother  that  head  of  yourn  with  such 
things.  You  forget  all  about  Nason.  Come  now,  sit 
on  the  bench  a  little  under  the  arbor." 

"  Just  a  little.     I  must  go  to  the  store  yet." 

"  You  have  lots  to  do." 

"  Yes.  And  I  almost  forgot  what  I  come  for. 
Aunt  Maria  wants  you  should  come  out  to  our  place 
to-morrow  early  and  help  with  the  strawberries  if  you 
can." 


OLD  AARON'S  FLAG  37 

"I'll  come.  I  like  to  come  to  your  place.  Your 
Aunt  Maria  is  so  straight  out,  nothing  false  about 
her.  I  like  her.  But  now  I  bet  you're  thinking 
of  how  many  berries  you  can  eat,"  she  added  as  she 
noted  the  child's  abstracted  look. 

"  No — I  was  thinkin' — I  was  just  thinkin*  what  a 
funny  name  Nason  is,  like  you  tried  to  say  Nathan  and 
got  your  tongue  twisted." 

"  It's  a  real  name,  but  you  must  forget  all  about  it." 

"  If  I  can.  Sometimes  Aunt  Maria  tells  me  to  for- 
get things,  like  wantin'  curls  and  fancy  things  and 
pretty  dresses  but  I  don't  see  how  I  can  forget  when  I 
remember,  do  you  ?  " 

"  It's  hard,"  Granny  said,  a  deeper  meaning  in  her 
words  than  the  child  could  comprehend.  "  It's  the 
hardest  thing  in  the  world  to  forget  what  you  want 
to  forget.  But  here  comes  Aaron " 

"  Well,  well,  if  here  ain't  Phoebe  Metz  with  her 
eyes  shining  and  a  pink  rose  pinned  to  her  waist  and 
matching  the  roses  in  her  cheeks !  "  the  old  soldier  said 
as  he  joined  the  two  under  the  arbor.  "  Whew ! 
Mebbe  it  ain't  hot.  hoeing  potatoes !  " 

"  You're  all  heated  up,  Aaron,"  said  Granny.  His 
fifteen  years  seniority  warranted  a  solicitous  watch- 
fulness over  him,  she  thought.  "  Now  you  get  cooled 
off  a  little  and  I'll  make  some  lemonade.  It'll  taste 
good  to  me  and  Phoebe,  too." 

"All  right,  Ma,"  Aaron  sighed  in  relaxation.  "  You 
know  how  to  touch  the  spot.  Did  you  tell  Phoebe 
about  the  flag?" 

"  Yes." 


38  PATCHWORK 

"  Oh,  I  think  it's  fine!  "  cried  the  child.  "  I  can't 
wait  till  all  the  flowers  bloom.  I  want  to  see  it." 

"  You'll  see  it,"  promised  the  man.  "And  you  bring 
all  the  boys  and  girls  in  too." 

"And  then  will  you  tell  us  about  the  war  and  the 
Battle  of  Gettysburg?  David  Eby  says  he  heard  you 
once  tell  about  it.  I  think  it  was  at  some  school  cele- 
bration. And  he  says  it  was  grand,  just  like  being 
there  yourself." 

"A  little  safer,"  laughed  the  old  soldier.  "But, 
yes,  when  the  poppies  bloom  you  bring  the  children  in 
and  I'll  tell  you  about  the  war  and  the  flag." 

"  I'll  remember.  I  love  to  hear  about  the  war.  Old 
Johnny  Schlegelmilch  from  way  up  the  country  comes 
to  our  place  still  to  sell  brooms,  and  once  last  summer 
he  came  and  it  began  to  thunder  and  storm  and  pop 
said  he  shall  stay  till  it's  over  and  then  he  told  me  all 
about  the  war.  He  said  our  flag's  the  prettiest  in  the 
whole  world." 

"  So  it  is,"  solemnly  affirmed  Old  Aaron. 

"  I  wonder  if  anybody  it  belongs  to  could  help  liking 
it,"  said  the  child,  remembering  Granny's  words. 

"  Well,"  the  veteran  answered  slowly,  "  I  knew  a 
young  fellow  once,  a  nice  fellow  he  seemed,  too,  and 
his  father  a  soldier  who  fought  for  the  flag.  Well, 
the  father  was  always  talking  about  the  flag  and  what 
it  means  and  how  every  man  should  be  ready  to  fight 
for  it.  And  one  day  the  boy  said  that  he  would  never 
fight  for  it  and  be  shot  to  pieces,  that  the  old  flag 
made  him  sick,  and  one  soldier  in  the  family  was 
enough." 


OLD  AARON'S  FLAG  39 

"  Oh !  "  Phoebe  opened  her  eyes  wide  in  surprise  and 
horror. 

"And  the  father  told  the  boy,"  the  old  man  went 
on  in  a  fixed  voice  as  though  the  veriest  details  of  the 
story  were  vividly  before  him,  "  that  if  he  would  not 
take  back  those  words  he  never  wanted  to  see  him 
again.  It  was  better  to  have  no  son,  than  such  a  son,  a 
coward  who  hated  the  flag." 

Here  Granny  appeared  with  the  lemonade  and  the 
story  was  abruptly  ended.  Phoebe  refrained  from 
questioning  the  man  about  the  story  but  as  she  sat 
under  the  arbor  and  afterwards,  as  she  started  up  the 
street  of  the  little  town,  she  wondered  over  and  over 
how  a  boy  could  be  the  son  of  a  soldier  and  hate  the 
flag,  and  whether  the  story  Old  Aaron  told  her  was  the 
story  of  himself  and  Nason. 


CHAPTER  III 

LITTLE  DUTCHIE 

"AuNT  MARIA  said  I  dare  look  around  a  little," 
thought  Phoebe  as  she  neared  the  big  store  on  the 
Square.  Her  heart  beat  more  quickly  as  she  turned 
the  knob  of  the  lieavy  door — little  things  still  thrilled 
her,  going  to  the  store  in  Greenwald  was  an  event ! 

The  clerk's  courteous,  "  What  can  I  do  for  you?  " 
bewildered  her  for  an  instant  but  she  swallowed  hard 
and  said,  "  Why,  we  want  twenty  pounds  of  granu- 
lated sugar;  ourn  is  almost  all  and  Aunt  Maria  wants 
to  make  some  strawberry  jelly  to-morrow.  She  said 
for  Jonas  to  fetch  it  along  on  his  home  road." 

"All  right.     Out  to  Jacob  Metz? " 

"  Yes,  he's  my  pop." 

"  I  see.     Anything  else  ?  " 

"  Three  spools  white  thread,  number  fifty." 

"Anything  else?" 

She  shook  her  head  as  she  handed  him  the  money. 
"  No,  that's  all  for  to-day.  But  Aunt  Maria  said  I 
dare  look  around  a  little  if  I  don't  touch  things." 

"  Look  all  you  want,"  said  the  clerk  and  turned 
away,  smiling. 

Phoebe  began  a  slow  tramp  about  the  big  store. 
There  was  the  same  glass  case  filled  with  jewelry. 
The  rings  and  pins  rested  on  satin  that  had  faded  long 


LITTLE  DUTCHIE  41 

since,  the  jewelry  itself  was  tarnished  but  it  held 
Phoebe's  interest  with  its  meagre  glistening.  One  lit- 
tle ring  with  a  tiny  turquoise  aroused  her  desire  but 
she  realized  that  she  was  longing  for  the  impossible,  so 
she  moved  away  from  the  coveted  treasures  and 
paused  before  the  ribbons.  Some  of  those  same  rib- 
bons had  been  in  the  tall  revolving  case  ever  since  she 
could  remember  going  to  that  store.  The  pale  sea- 
green  and  the  crushed-strawberry  were  faded  horribly, 
yet  she  looked  at  them  with  longing.  "  Suppose,"  she 
thought,  "  I  dared  pick  out  any  ribbon  I  want  for  a 
sash — guess  I'd  take  that  funny  pink  one,  or  mebbe 
that  nice  blue  one.  But  I  kinda  think  I'd  rather  have 
a  set  of  dishes  or  a  doll.  But  then  I  got  that  rag  doll 
at  home  and  that  pretty  one  that  pop  got  for  me  in 
Lancaster  and  that  Aunt  Maria  won't  leave  me  play 
with.  That's  funny  now,  that  she  says  still  I  daren't 
play  with  it  for  I  might  break  it,  that  I  shall  keep  it 
till  I'm  big.  But  when  I'm  big  I  won't  want  a  doll, 
and  then  I  vender  what!  What  will  I  do  with  it 
then?" 

She  stood  a  long  time  before  a  table  crowded  with 
a  motley  gathering  of  toys,  dolls  and  books.  With 
so  much  coveted  treasure  before  her  it  was  hard  to 
remember  Aunt  Maria's  injunction  to  refrain  from 
touching. 

"  Well,  anyhow,"  she  decided  finally,  "  I  won't  need 
any  of  these  things  to  play  with  now,  for  I'm  going  to 
be  out  in  the  garden  and  the  yard  with  the  flowers 
and  birds.  So  I  guess  my  old  rag  doll  will  be  plenty 
for  playin'  with.  But  I  mustn't  look  too  long  else 


42  PATCHWORK 

Aunt  Maria  won't  leave  me  come  in  soon  again.  I'll 
walk  down  the  other  side  of  the  store  now  yet  and 
then  I  must  go." 

She  passed  slowly  along,  her  keen  eyes  noticing  the 
varied  assortment  of  articles  displayed  for  sale.  A 
long  line  of  red  handkerchiefs  was  fastened  to  a  cord 
high  above  one  counter.  Long  shelves  were  stacked 
high  with  ginghams,  calicoes  and  finer  dress  materials. 
There  were  gaudy  rugs  and  blankets  tacked  to  the 
walls  near  the  ceiling.  Counters  were  filled  with  glass- 
ware, china  and  crockery;  other  counters  were  laden 
with  umbrellas,  hats,  shoes 

"Ach,"  she  sighed  as  she  went  out  to  the  street,  "  I 
think  this  goin'  to  Greenwald  to  the  store  is  vonderful 
nice !  It's  most  as  much  fun  as  goin'  in  to  Lancaster, 
only  there  I  go  in  a  trolley  and  I  see  black  niggers  " — 
she  spoke  the  word  with  a  little  shiver,  for  Greenwald 
had  no  negro  residents — "  and  once  in  there  me  and 
Aunt  Maria  saw  a  Chinaman  with  a  long  plait  like  a 
girl's  hangin'  down  his  back !  " 

After  asking  for  the  mail  at  the  post-office  she 
turned  homeward,  feeling  like  singing  from  sheer  hap- 
piness. Then  she  looked  down  at  her  pink  damask 
rose — it  was  withered. 

"  I'm  goin'  home  now  so  I  guess  I  won't  be  deco- 
rated no  more."  She  unpinned  the  flower,  clasped  its 
short  stem  in  her  hand  and  raised  the  blossom  to  her 
face. 

"  Um-m-m ! "  She  drew  deep  breaths  of  the  rose's 
perfume.  "  Um-m !  " 

"  Does  it  smell  good  ? " 


LITTLE  DUTCHIE  43 

Phcebe  turned  her  head  at  the  voice  and  looked  into 
the  face  of  a  young  woman  who  sat  on  the  porch  of  a 
near-by  house. 

"  Does  it  smell  good  ?  "  The  question  came  again, 
accompanied  by  a  broad  smile. 

Quickly  the  hand  holding  the  flower  dropped  to  the 
child's  side,  her  eyes  were  cast  down  to  the  brick  pave- 
ment and  she  went  hurriedly  down  the  street.  But 
not  so  hurriedly  that  she  failed  to  hear  the  words, 
"LITTLE  DUTCHIE"  and  a  merry  laugh  from  the 
young  woman. 

"  She — she  laughed  at  me !  "  Phoebe  murmured  to 
herself  under  the  blue  sunbonnet.  "  I  don't  know 
who  she  is,  but  that  was  at  Mollie  Stern's  house  that 
she  sat — that  lady  that  laughed  at  me.  She  called  me 
a  Dutchie ! " 

The  child  stabbed  a  fist  into  one  eye  and  then  into 
the  other  to  fight  back  the  tears.  She  felt  sure  that 
the  appellation  of  Dutchie  was  hot  complimentary. 
Hadn't  she  heard  the  boys  at  school  tease  each  other 
by  calling,  "  Dutchie,  Dutchie,  sauer  kraut!  "  But  no 
one  had  ever  called  her  that  before !  Her  heart  ached 
as  she  went  down  the  street  of  the  little  town.  She 
had  planned  to  look  at  all  the  gardens  of  the  main 
street  as  she  walked  home  but  the  glory  of  the  June 
day  was  spoiled  for  her.  She  did  not  care  to  look  at 
any  gardens.  The  laughing  words,  "  Does  it  smell 
good  ? "  rang  in  her  ears.  The  name,  "  Little 
Dutchie,"  sent  her  heart  throbbing. 

After  the  first  hurt  a  feeling  of  wrath  rose  in  her. 
"Anyhow,"  she  thought,  "  it's  no  disgrace  to  be  a 


44  PATCHWORK 

Dutchie !  Nobody  needn't  laugh  at  me  for  that.  But 
I  just  hate  that  lady  that  laughed  at  me!  I  hate 
everybody  that  pokes  fun  at  me.  And  I  ain't  goin'  to 
always  be  a  Dutchie.  You  see  once  if  I  don't  be 
something  else  when  I  grow  up !  " 

"  Hello,  Phoebe,"  a  cheery  voice  rang  out,  followed 
by  a  deeper  exclamation,  "  Phoebe !  "  as  she  came  to 
the  last  intersection  of  streets  in  the  town  and  turned 
to  enter  the  country  road. 

She  turned  a  sober  little  face  to  the  speakers,  David 
Eby  and  his  cousin,  Phares  Eby. 

"  Hello,"  she  answered  listlessly. 

"What's  wrong?"  asked  the  older  boy  as  they 
joined  her. 

Both  were  plainly  country  boys  accustomed  to  hard 
farm  work,  but  their  tanned  faces  were  frank  and 
honest  under  broad  straw  hats.  Each  bore  marked 
family  resemblances  in  their  big  frames,  dark  eyes  and 
well-shaped  heads,  but  there  was  a  distinct  line  drawn 
between  their  personalities.  Phares  Eby  at  sixteen 
was  grave,  studious  and  dignified;  his  cousin,  David, 
two  years  younger,  was  a  cheery,  laughing,  sociable 
boy,  fond  of  boyish  sports,  delighting  in  teasing  his 
schoolmates  and  enjoying  their  retaliation,  preferring  a 
tramp  through  the  woods  to  the  best  book  ever  written. 

The  boys  lived  on  adjacent  farms  and  had  long 
been  the  nearest  neighbors  of  the  Metz  family;  thus 
they  had  become  Phoebe's  playmates.  Then,  too,  the 
Eby  families  were  members  of  the  Church  of  the 
Brethren,  the  mothers  of  the  boys  were  old  friends  of 
Maria  Metz,  and  a  deep  friendship  existed  among  them 


LITTLE  DUTCHIE  45 

all.  Phoebe  and  the  two  boys  attended  the  same  little 
country  school  and  had  become  frankly  fond  of  each 
other. 

"  What's  wrong?"  asked  Phares  again  as  Phoebe 
hung  her  head  and  remained  silent. 

"Ach,"  laughed  David,  "  somebody's  broke  her 
dolly." 

"  Nobody  ain't  not  broke  my  dolly,  David  Eby ! " 
she  said  crossly.  "  I  wouldn't  cry  for  that!  " 

"  What's  wrong  then  ? — come  on,  Phoebe."  He 
pushed  the  sunbonnet  back  and  patted  her  roguishly 
on  the  head.  But  she  drew  away  from  him. 

"  Don't  you  touch  me,"  she  cried.  "  I'm  a 
Dutchie!" 

"What?" 

She  tossed  her  head  and  became  silent  again. 

"  Come  on,  tell  me,"  coaxed  David.  "  I  want  to 
know  what's  wrong.  Why,  if  you  don't  tell  me  I'll  be 
so  worried  I  won't  be  able  to  eat  any  dinner,  and  I'm 
so  hungry  now  I  could  eat  nails." 

The  girl  laughed  suddenly  in  spite  of  herself — "Ach, 
David,  you're  awful  simple!  Abody  has  to  laugh  at 
you.  I  was  mad,  for  when  I  was  in  Greenwald  I  was 
smellin'  a  rose,  that  pink  rose  you  gave  me,  and  some 
lady  on  Mollie  Stern's  porch  laughed  at  me  and  called 
me  a  LITTLE  DUTCHIE  !  Now  wouldn't  you  got  mad 
for  that?" 

But  David  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed.  "And 
you  were  ready  to  cry  at  that?  "  he  said.  "  Why,  I'm 
a  Dutchie,  so  is  Phares,  so's  most  of  the  people  round 
here,  Ain't  so,  Phares  ?  " 


46  PATCHWORK 

"  Yes,  guess  so,"  the  older  boy  assented,  his  eyes 
still  upon  Phoebe.  "  D'ye  know,"  he  said,  addressing 
her,  "  when  you  were  cross  a  few  minutes  ago  your 
eyes  were  almost  black.  You  shouldn't  get  so  angry 
still,  Phoebe." 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  retorted  quickly,  "  I  don't  care 
if  my  eyes  was  purple !  " 

"  But  you  should  care,"  persisted  the  boy  gravely. 
"  I  don't  like  you  so  angry." 

"Ach,"  she  flashed  an  indignant  look  at  him — 
"  Phares  Eby,  you're  by  far  too  bossy!  I  like  David 
best ;  he  don't  boss  me  all  the  time  like  you  do !  " 

David  laughed  but  Phares  appeared  hurt. 

Phoebe  was  quick  to  note  it.  "  Now  I  hurt  you  like 
that  lady  hurt  me,  ain't,  Phares  ?  "  she  said  contritely. 
"  But  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you,  Phares,  honest." 

"  But  you  like  me  best,"  said  David  gaily.  "  You 
can't  take  that  back,  remember." 

She  gave  him  a  scornful  look.  Then  she  remem- 
bered the  flag  in  the  Hogendobler  garden  and  became 
happy  and  eager  again  as  she  said,  "  Oh,  Phares, 
David,  I  know  the  best  secret !  " 

"  Can't  keep  it,  I  bet !  "  challenged  David. 

"  Can't  I  ?  "  she  retorted  saucily.  "  Now  for  that  I 
won't  tell  you  till  you  get  good  and  anxious.  But  then 
it's  not  really  a  secret."  The  flag  of  growing  flowers 
was  too  glorious  a  thing  to  keep;  she  compromised — 
"  I'll  tell  you,  because  it's  not  a  real  secret."  And  she 
proceeded  to  unfold  with  earnest  gesticulations  the 
story  about  the  flowers  of  red  and  white  and  blue  and 
the  invitation  for  all  who  cared  to  come  and  see  the 


LITTLE  DUTCHIE  47 

colors  of  Old  Glory  growing  in  the  garden  of  Old 
Aaron  and  Granny,  and  of  the  added  pleasure  of  hear- 
ing Old  Aaron  tell  his  thrilling  story  of  the  battle  of 
Gettysburg. 

"  I  won't  want  to  hear  about  any  battle,"  said 
Phares.  "  I  think  war  is  horrible,  awful,  wicked." 

"  Mebbe  so,"  said  the  girl,  "  but  the  poor  men  who 
fight  in  wars  ain't  always  awful,  horrible,  wicked. 
You  needn't  turn  your  nose  up  at  the  old  soldiers. 
Folks  call  Old  Aaron  lazy,  I  heard  'em  a'ready,  lots  of 
times,  but  I  bet  some  of  them  wouldn't  have  fought 
like  he  did  and  left  a  leg  at  Gettysburg  and — ach,  I 
think  Old  Aaron  is  just  vonderful  grand !  "  she  ended 
in  an  impulsive  burst  of  eloquence. 

"  Hooray !  "  shouted  David.  "  So  do  I !  When  he 
carries  the  flag  out  the  pike  every  Decoration  Day  he's 
somebody,  all  right." 

"Ain't  now!  "  agreed  Phoebe. 

"  Been  in  the  stores  ?  "  David  asked  her,  feeling  that 
a  change  of  subject  might  be  wise, 

"  Yes." 

"See  anything  pretty?" 

"Ach,  yes.  A  lots  of  things.  I  saw  the  pret- 
tiest finger  ring  with  a  blue  stone  in.  I  wish  I  had 
it." 

"  What  would  Aunt  Maria  say  to  that  ?  "  wondered 
David. 

"Ach,  she'd  say  that  so  long  as  my  finger  ain't  broke 
I  don't  need  a  band  on  it.  But  I  looked  at  the  ring 
at  any  rate  and  wished  I  had  it." 

"  You  dare  never  wear  gold  rings,"  Phares  told  her. 


48  PATCHWORK 

"  Not  now,"  she  returned,  "  but  some  day  when  I'm 
older  mebbe  I'll  wear  a  lot  of  'em  if  I  want." 

The  words  set  the  boys  thinking.  Each  wondered 
what  manner  of  woman  their  little  playmate  would 
become. 

"  I  bet  she'll  be  a  good-looking  one,"  thought  David. 
"  She'd  look  swell  dressed  up  fine  like  some  of  the 
people  I  see  in  town." 

"  Of  course  she'll  turn  plain  some  day  like  her 
aunt,"  thought  the  other  boy.  "  She'll  look  nice  in  the 
plain  dress  and  the  white  cap." 

Phoebe,  ignorant  of  the  visions  her  innocent  words 
had  called  to  the  hearts  of  her  comrades,  chattered  on 
until  they  reached  the  little  green  gate  of  the  Metz 
farm. 

"  Now  you  two  must  climb  the  hill  yet.  I'm  glad 
I'm  home.  I'm  hungry." 

"And  me,"  the  boys  answered,  and  with  good-byes 
were  off  on  the  winding  road  up  the  hill. 

As  Phoebe  turned  the  corner  of  the  big  gray  house 
she  came  face  to  face  with  her  father. 

"  So  here  you  are,  Phoebe,"  he  said,  smiling  at  sight 
of  her.  "  Your  Aunt  Maria  sent  me  out  to  look  if 
you  were  coming.  It's  time  to  eat.  Been  to  the  store, 
ain't?" 

"  Yes,  pop.     I  went  alone." 

"  So  ?  Why,  you're  getting  a  big  girl,  now  you  can 
go  to  Green wald  alone." 

"Ach,"  she  laughed.  "Why,  it's  just  straight 
road." 

They  crossed  the  porch  and  entered  the  kitchen 


LITTLE  DUTCHIE  49 

hand-in-hand,  the  sunbonneted  little  girl  and  the  big 
farmer.  Jacob  Metz  was  also  a  member  of  the  Church 
of  the  Brethren  and  bore  the  distinctive  mark:  hair 
parted  in  the  middle  and  combed  straight  back  over 
his  ears  and  cut  so  that  the  edge  of  it  almost  touched 
his  collar.  A  heavy  black  beard  concealed  his  chin, 
mild  brown  eyes  gleamed  beneath  a  pair  of  heavy 
black  brows.  Only  in  the  wide,  high  forehead  and 
the  resolute  mouth  could  be  seen  any  resemblance  be- 
tween him  and  the  fair  child  by  his  side. 

When  they  entered  the  kitchen  Maria  Metz  turned 
from  the  stove,  where  she  had  been  stirring  the  con- 
tents of  a  big  iron  pan. 

"  So  you  got  back  safe,  after  all,  Phoebe,"  she  said 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  I  was  afraid  mebbe  something 
happened  to  you,  with  so  many  streets  to  go  across 
and  so  many  teams  all  the  time  and  the  automobiles." 

"Ach,  I  look  both  ways  still  before  I  start  over. 
Granny  Hogendobler  said  she'll  get  out  early." 

"  So.     What  did  she  have  to  say?  " 

"Ach,  lots.  She  showed  me  her  flowers.  Ain't 
it  too  bad,  now,  that  her  little  girl  died  and  her  boy 
went  away  ?  " 

"  Well,  she  spoiled  that  boy.  He  grew  up  to  be  not 
much  account  if  he  stays  away  just  because  he  and  his 
pop  had  words  once." 

"  But  he'll  come  back  some  day.  Granny  knows  he 
will."  The  child  echoed  the  old  mother's  confidence. 

"  Not  much  chance  of  that,"  said  Aunt  Maria  with 
her  usual  decisiveness.  "  When  a  man  goes  off  like 
that  he  mostly  always  stays  off.  He  writes  to  her  she 


50  PATCHWORK 

says  and  I  guess  she's  just  as  good  off  with  that  as  if 
he  come  home  to  live.  She's  lived  this  long  without 
him." 

"  But,"  argued  Phoebe,  the  maternal  in  her  over- 
sweeping  all  else,  "  he's  her  boy  and  she  wants  him 
back!" 

"Ach,"  the  aunt  said  impatiently,  "you  talk  too 
much.  Were  you  at  the  store  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  got  the  thread  and  ordered  the  sugar  and 
counted  the  change  and  there  was  nothing  in  the  post- 
office  for  us." 

"Did  you  enjoy  your  trip  to  town?"  asked  the 
father. 

"Yes— but " 

"  But  what  ?  "  demanded  Aunt  Maria.  "  Did  you 
break  anything  in  the  store  now  ?  " 

"  No.  I  just  got  mad.  It  was  this  way  " — and  she 
told  the  story  of  her  pink  rose. 

Maria  Metz  frowned.  "David  Eby  should  leave  his 
mom's  roses  on  the  stalks  where  they  belong.  Any- 
how, I  guess  you  did  look  funny  if  you  poked  your 
nose  in  it  like  you  do  still  here." 

"  But  she  had  no  business  to  laugh  at  me,  had  she, 
pop?" 

"  You're  too  touchy,"  he  said  kindly.  "  But  did  you 
say  the  lady  was  on  Mollie  Stern's  porch  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  I  guess  it  was  her  cousin  from  Philadelphia, 
the  one  that  was  elected  to  teach  the  school  on  the  hill 
for  next  winter." 

"  Oh,  pop,  not  our  school  ? " 


LITTLE  DUTCHIE  51 

"  Yes.  Anyhow,  her  cousin  was  elected  yesterday 
to  teach  your  school.  It  seems  she  wanted  to  teach 
in  the  country  and  Mollie's  pop  is  friends  with  a  lot  of 
our  directors  and  they  voted  her  in." 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  school  then ! "  Phoebe  almost 
sobbed.  "  I  don't  like  her,  I  don't  want  to  go  to  her 
school ;  she  laughed  at  me." 

"  Come,  come,"  the  father  laid  his  hands  on  her  head 
and  spoke  gently  yet  in  a  tone  that  she  respected. 
"  You  mustn't  get  worked  up  over  it.  She's  a  nice 
young  lady,  and  it  will  be  something  new  to  have  a 
teacher  from  Philadelphia.  Anyhow,  it's  a  long  ways 
yet  till  school  begins." 

"  I'm  glad  it  is." 

"  Come,"  interrupted  the  aunt,  "  help  now  to  dish 
up.  It's  time  to  eat  once.  We're  Pennsylvania  Dutch, 
so  what's  the  use  gettin'  cross  when  we're  called  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Phoebe's  father  said,  smiling,  "  I'm  a  Dutchie 
too,  but  I'm  a  big  Dutchie." 

Phcebe  smiled,  but  all  through  the  meal  and  during 
the  days  that  followed  she  thought  often  of  the  rose. 
Her  heart  was  bitter  toward  the  new  teacher  and  she 
resolved  never,  never  to  like  her! 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   NEW   TEACHER 

THE  first  Monday  in  September  was  the  opening 
day  of  the  rural  school  on  the  hill.  Phoebe  woke  that 
morning  before  daylight.  At  four  she  heard  her  Aunt 
Maria  tramp  about  in  heavy  shoes.  It  was  Monday 
and  wash-day  and  to  Maria  Metz  the  two  words  were 
so  closely  linked  that  nothing  less  than  serious  illness 
or  death  could  part  them. 

"  Ach,  my,"  Phoebe  sighed  as  she  turned  again  under 
her  red  and  green  quilt,  "  this  is  the  first  day  of  school ! 
Wish  Aunt  Maria'd  forget  to  call  me  till  it's  too  late  to 

go/' 

At  five-thirty  she  heard  her  father  go  down-stairs 
and  soon  after  that  came  her  aunt's  loud  call,  "  Phoebe, 
it's  time  to  get  up.  Get  up  now  and  get  down  for  I 
have  breakfast  made." 

"  Yes,"  came  the  dreary  answer. 

"  Now  don't  you  go  asleep  again." 

"  No,  I'm  awake.  Shall  I  dress  right  aways  for 
school?" 

"  No.     Put  on  your  old  brown  gingham  once." 

Phoebe  made  a  wry  face.  "  Ugh,  that  ugly  brown 
gingham!  What  for  did  anybody  ever  buy  brown 
when  there  are  such  pretty  colors  in  the  stores  ?  " 

A  moment  later  she  pushed  back  the  gay  quilt  and 


THE  NEW  TEACHER  53 

sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed.  The  first  gleams  of  day- 
break sent  bright  streaks  of  light  into  her  room  as  she 
sat  on  the  high  walnut  bed  and  swung  her  bare  feet 
back  and  forth. 

"  It's  the  first  time  I  wasn't  glad  for  school,"  she 
soliloquized  softly.  "  I  used  to  could  hardly  wait 
still,  and  I'd  be  glad  this  time  if  we  didn't  have  that 
teacher  from  Phildelphy.  Miss  Virginia  Lee  her 
name  is,  and  she's  pretty  like  the  name,  but  I  don't 
like  her!  Guess  she's  that  stuck  up,  comin'  from  the 
city,  that  she'll  laugh  all  the  time  at  us  country  people. 
I  don't  like  people  that  poke  fun  at  me,  you  bet  I  don't ! 
I  vender  now,  mebbe  I  am  funny  to  look  at,  that  she 
laughed  at  me.  But  if  I  was  I  think  somebody  would 
'a'  told  me  long  ago.  I  don't  see  what  for  she  laughed 
so  at  me." 

She  sprang  from  the  bed  and  ran  to  the  window, 
pulled  the  cord  of  the  green  shade  and  sent  it  rattling 
to  the  top.  Then  she  stood  on  tiptoe  before  the  mirror 
in  the  walnut  bureau,  but  the  glass  was  hung  too  high 
for  a  satisfactory  scrutiny  of  her  features.  She  pushed 
a  cane-seated  chair  before  the  bureau,  knelt  upon  it 
and  brought  her  face  close  to  the  glass. 

"  Um,"  she  surveyed  herself  soberly.  "  Well,  now, 
mebbe  if  my  hair  was  combed  I'd  look  better." 

She  pulled  the  tousled  braids,  opened  them  and  shook 
her  head  until  the  golden  hair  hung  about  her  face  in 
all  its  glory. 

"  Why  " — she  gasped  at  the  sudden  change  she  had 
wrought,  then  laughed  aloud  from  sheer  childish  hap- 
piness in  her  own  miracle — "  Why,"  she  said  gladly, 


54  PATCHWORK 

"  I  ain't  near  so  funny  lookin'  with  my  hair  opened 
and  down  instead  of  pulled  back  in  two  tight  plaits! 
But  I  wish  Aunt  Maria'd  leave  me  have  curls.  I'd 
have  a  lot,  and  long  ones,  longer'n  Mary  Warner's." 

"Phoebe!"  Aunt  Maria's  voice  startled  the  little 
girl.  "  What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  lookin'  in 
that  glass  so?  And  your  knees  on  a  cane-bottom 
chair!  You  know  better  than  that.  What  for  are 
you  lookin'  at  yourself  like  that?  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  to  be  so  vain." 

Phoebe  left  the  chair  and  looked  at  her  aunt. 

"Why,"  she  said  in  an  amazed  voice,  "I  wasn't  being 
vain!  I  was  just  lookin'  to  see  if  I  am  funny  lookin' 
that  it  made  Miss  Lee  laugh  at  me.  And  I  found  out 
that  I'm  much  nicer  to  look  at  with  my  hair  open  than 
in  plaits.  You  say  still  I  mustn't  have  curls,  but  can't 
you  see  how  much  nicer  I  look  this  way " 

"Ach,"  interrupted  her  aunt,  "  don't  talk  so  dumb! 
I  guess  you  ain't  any  funnier  lookin'  than  other  peo- 
ple, and  if  you  was  it  wouldn't  matter  long  as  you're 
a  good  girl." 

"  But  I  wouldn't  be  a  good  girl  if  I  looked  like  some 
people  I  saw  a' ready.  If  I  had  such  big  ears  and 
crooked  nose  and  big  mouth " 

"  Phoebe,  you  talk  vonderf ul !  Where  do  you  get 
such  nonsense  put  in  your  head  ?  " 

"  I  just  think  it  and  then  I  say  it.  But  was  that 
bad?  I  didn't  mean  it  for  bad." 

She  looked  so  like  a  cherub  of  absolute  mnocency 
with  her  deep  blue  eyes  opened  wide  in  wonder,  her 
golden  hair  tumbled  about  her  face  and  streaming  over 


THE  NEW  TEACHER  55 

the  shoulders  of  her  white  muslin  nightgown,  that 
Aunt  Maria,  though  she  had  never  heard  of  Reynolds' 
cherubs,  was  moved  by  the  adorable  picture. 

"  I  know,  Phcebe,"  she  said  kindly,  "  that  you  want 
to  be  a  good  girl.  But  you  say  such  funny  things  still 
that  I  vonder  sometimes  if  I'm  raisin'  you  the  right 
way.  Come,  hurry,  now  get  dressed.  Your  pop's 
goin'  way  over  to  the  field  near  Snavely's  and  you  want 
to  give  him  good-bye  before  he  goes  to  work." 

"  I'll  hurry,  Aunt  Maria,  honest  I  will,"  the  child 
promised  and  began  to  dress. 

A  little  while  later  when  she  appeared  in  the  big 
kitchen  her  father  and  Aunt  Maria  were  already  eating 
breakfast.  With  her  hair  drawn  back  into  one  uneven 
braid  and  a  rusty  brown  dress  upon  her  she  seemed 
little  like  the  adorable  figure  of  the  looking-glass,  but 
her  father's  face  lighted  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  So,  Phoebe,"  he  said,  a  teasing  twinkle  in  his  eyes, 
"  I  see  you  get  up  early  to  go  to  school." 

"  But  I  ain't  glad  to  go."  She  refused  to  smile  at 
his  words. 

"  Ach,  yes,"  he  coaxed,  "  you  be  a  good  girl  and  like 
your  new  teacher.  She's  nice.  I  guess  you'll  like  her 
when  you  know  her  once." 

"  Mebbe  so,"  was  the  unpromising  answer  as  she 
slipped  the  straps  of  a  blue  checked  apron  over  her 
shoulders,  buttoned  it  in  the  back  and  took  her  place 
at  the  table. 

Breakfast  at  the  Metz  farm  was  no  light  meal.  Be- 
tween the  early  morning  meal  and  the  twelve  o'clock 
dinner  much  hard  work  was  generally  accomplished 


56  PATCHWORK 

and  Maria  Metz  felt  that  a  substantial  foundation  was 
necessary.  Accordingly,  she  carried  to  the  big,  square 
cherry  table  in  the  kitchen  an  array  of  well-filled 
dishes.  There  was  always  a  glass  dish  of  stewed 
prunes  or  seasonable  fresh  fruit ;  a  plate  piled  high  with 
thick  slices  of  home-made  bread;  several  dishes  of 
spreadings,  as  the  jellies,  preserves  or  apple-butter  of 
that  community  are  called.  There  was  a  generous 
square  of  home-made  butter,  a  platter  of  home-cured 
ham  or  sausage,  a  dish  of  fried  or  creamed  potatoes, 
a  smaller  dish  of  pickles  or  beets,  and  occasionally  a 
dome  of  glistening  cup  cheese.  The  meal  would  have 
been  considered  incomplete  without  a  liberal  supply  of 
cake  or  cookies,  coffee  in  huge  cups  and  yellow  cream 
in  an  old-fashioned  blue  pitcher. 

That  morning  Aunt  Maria  had  prepared  an  extra 
treat,  a  platter  of  golden  slices  of  fried  mush. 

The  two  older  people  partook  heartily  of  the  food 
before  them  but  the  child  ate  listlessly.  Her  aunt  soon 
exclaimed,  "  Now,  Phoebe,  you  must  eat  or  you'll  get 
hungry  till  recess.  You  know  this  is  the  first  day  of 
school  and  you  can't  run  for  a  cookie  if  you  get 
hungry.  You  ain't  eatin' ;  you  feel  bad  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  ain't  hungry." 

"  Come  now,"  urged  her  father,  as  he  poured  a 
liberal  helping  of  molasses  on  his  sixth  piece  of  mush, 
"  you  must  eat.  You  surely  don't  feel  that  bad  about 
going  to  school !  " 

"Ach,  pop,"  she  burst  out,  "  I  don't  hate  the  school 
part,  the  learnin'  in  books;  that  part  is  easy.  But  I 
don't  like  the  teacher,  and  I  guess  she  laughed  at  my 


THE  NEW  TEACHER  57 

tight  braids.  Mebbe  if  I  dared  wear  curls Oh, 

pop,  daren't  I  have  curls  ?  I'd  like  to  show  her  that  I 
look  nice  that  way.  Say  I  dare,  then  I  won't  be  so 
funny  lookin'  no  more !  " 

Jacob  Metz  looked  at  his  offspring — what  did  the 
child  mean?  Why,  he  thought  she  was  right  sweet 
and  surely  her  aunt  kept  her  clean  and  tidy.  But 
before  he  could  answer  his  sister  spoke  authoritatively. 

"  Jacob,  I  wish  you'd  tell  her  once  that  she  daren't 
have  curls!  She  just  plagues  me  all  the  time  for  'em. 
Her  hair  was  made  to  be  kept  back  and  not  hangin' 
all  over." 

"  Why  then,"  Phoebe  asked  soberly,  "  did  God  make 
my  hair  curly  if  I  daren't  have  curls?"  She  spoke 
with  a  sense  of  knowing  that  she  had  propounded  an 
unanswerable  question. 

"  That  part  don't  matter,"  evaded  Aunt  Maria. 
"  You  ask  your  pop  once  how  he  wants  you  to  have 
your  hair  fixed." 

The  child  looked  up  expectantly  but  she  read  the 
answer  in  her  father's  face. 

"  I  like  your  hair  back  in  plaits,  Phoebe.  You  look 
nice  that  way." 

"Ach,"  her  nose  wrinkled  in  disgust,  "  not  so  very, 
I  guess.  Mary  Warner  has  curls,  always  she  has 
curls!" 

"  Come,"  said  the  father  as  he  rose  from  his  chair, 
"  you  be  a  good  girl  now  to-day.  I'm  going  now." 

"All  right,  pop.  I'll  tell  you  to-night  how  I  like  the 
teacher." 

After  the  breakfast  dishes  were  washed  and  the 


58  PATCHWORK 

other  morning  tasks  accomplished  Phoebe  brought  her 
comb  and  ribbons  to  her  aunt  and  sat  patiently  on  a 
spindle-legged  kitchen  chair  while  the  woman  carefully 
parted  the  long  light  hair  and  formed  it  into  two 
braids,  each  tied  at  the  end  with  a  narrow  brown  rib- 
bon. 

"  Now,"  Aunt  Maria  said  as  she  unbuttoned  the 
despised  brown  dress,  "  you  dare  put  on  your  blue 
chambray  dress  if  you  take  care  and  not  get  it  dirty 
right  a  ways." 

"  Oh,  I'm  glad  for  that.  I  like  that  dress  best  of 
all  I  have.  It's  not  so  long  in  the  body  or  tight  or 
long  in  the  skirt  like  my  other  dresses.  And  blue  is 
a  prettier  color  than  brown.  I'll  hurry  now  and  get 
dressed." 

She  ran  up  the  wide  stairs,  her  hands  skimming 
lightly  the  white  hand-rail,  and  entered  the  little  room 
known  as  the  clothes-room,  where  the  best  clothes  of 
the  family  were  hung  on  heavy  hooks  fastened  along 
the  entire  length  of  the  four  walls.  She  soon  found 
the  blue  chambray  dress.  It  was  extremely  simple. 
The  plain  gathered  skirt  was  fastened  to  the  full  waist 
by  a  wide  belt  of  the  chambray.  But  the  dress  bore 
one  distinctive  feature.  Instead  of  the  usual  narrow 
band  around  the  neck  it  was  adorned  with  a  wide  round 
collar  which  lay  over  the  shoulders.  Phoebe  knew 
that  the  collar  was  vastly  becoming  and  the  knowledge 
always  had  a  soothing  effect  upon  her. 

When  the  call  of  the  school  bell  floated  down  the 
hill  to  the  gray  farmhouse  Phoebe  picked  up  her  school 
bag  and  her  tin  lunch  kettle  and  started  off,  outwardly 


THE  NEW  TEACHER  59 

in  happier  mood  yet  loath  to  go  to  the  old  school- 
house  for  the  first  session  of  school. 

From  the  Metz  farm  the  road  to  the  school  began 
to  ascend.  Gradually  it  curved  up-hill,  then  sud- 
denly stretched  out  in  a  long,  steep  climb  until,  upon 
the  summit  of  the  hill,  it  curved  sharply  to  the  west  to 
a  wide  clearing.  It  was  to  this  clearing  the  little  coun- 
try schoolhouse  with  its  wide  porch  and  snug  bell- 
tower  called  the  children  back  to  their  studies. 

Goldenrod  and  asters  grew  along  the  road,  dog- 
wood branches  hung  their  scarlet  berries  over  the  edge 
of  the  woods,  but  Phcebe  would  have  scorned  to 
gather  any  of  the  flowers  she  loved  and  carry  them  to 
the  new  teacher.  "  I  ain't  bringing  her  any  flowers," 
she  soliloquized. 

She  trudged  soberly  ahead.  As  she  reached  the 
summit  of  the  hill  several  children  called  to  her.  From 
three  roads  came  other  children,  most  of  them  carry- 
ing baskets  or  kettles  filled  with  the  noon  lunch.  All 
were  eager  for  the  opening  of  school,  anxious  to  "  see 
the  new  teacher  once." 

From  the  farm  nearest  the  schoolhouse  Phares  Eby 
had  come  for  his  last  year  in  the  rural  school.  From 
the  little  cottage  on  the  adjoining  farm  David  Eby 
came  whistling  down  the  road. 

"  Hello,  Phcebe,'*  he  called  as  he  drew  near  to  her. 
"Glad  for  school?" 

"  I  ain't !  "  She  flung  the  words  at  him.  "  You 
know  good  enough  I  ain't." 

"  Ha,  ha,"  he  laughed,  "  don't  be  cranky,  Phcebe. 
Here  comes  Phares  and  he'll  tell  you  that  your 


60  PATCHWORK 

eyes  are  black  when  you're  cross.  Won't  you, 
Phares?" 

"  I "  began  the  sober  youth,  but  Phoebe  rudely 

interrupted. 

"  I  don't  care.     I  don't  like  the  new  teacher." 

"  You  must  like  everybody,"  said  Phares. 

"  Well,  I  just  guess  I  won't!  There's  Mary  War- 
ner with  her  white  dress  and  her  black  curls  with  a  pink 
bow  on  them — you  don't  think  I'm  likin'  her  when 
she's  got  what  I  want  and  daren't  have?  Come  on, 
it's  time  to  go  in,"  she  added  as  Phares  would  have 
remonstrated  with  her  for  her  frank  avowal  of 
jealousy.  "  Let's  go  in  and  see  what  the  teacher's 
got  on." 

"  Gee,"  whistled  David,  "  girls  are  always  thinking 
of  clothes." 

Phoebe  gave  him  a  disdainful  look,  but  he  laughed 
and  walked  by  her  side,  up  the  three  steps,  across  the 
porch  and  into  the  schoolhouse. 

The  red  brick  schoolhouse  on  the  hill  was  a  typical 
country  school  of  Lancaster  County.  It  had  one  large 
room  with  four  rows  of  double  desks  and  seats  facing 
the  teacher's  desk  and  a  long  blackboard  with  its 
border  of  A  B  C.  A  stove  stood  in  one  of  the  corners 
in  the  front  of  the  room.  In  the  rear  numerous  hooks 
in  the  wall  waited  for  the  children's  wraps  and  a  low 
bench  stood  ready  to  receive  their  lunch  baskets  and 
kettles.  Each  detail  of  the  little  schoolhouse  was 
reproduced  in  scores  of  other  rural  schools  of  that 
community.  And  yet,  somehow,  many  of  the  older 
children  felt  on  that  first  Monday  a  hope  that  their 


THE  NEW  TEACHER  61 

school  would  be  different  that  year,  that  the  teacher 
from  Philadelphia  would  change  many  of  the  old  ways 
and  teach  them,  what  Youth  most  desires,  new  ways, 
new  manners,  new  things.  It  is  only  as  the'  years 
bring  wisdom  that  men  and  women  appreciate  the  old 
things  of  life,  as  well  as  the  new. 

The  new  teacher  became  at  once  the  predominating 
spirit  of  that  little  group.  The  interest  of  all  the 
children,  from  the  shy  little  beginners  in  the  Primer 
class  to  the  tall  ones  in  the  A  class,  was  centered  about 
her. 

Miss  Lee  stood  by  her  desk  as  Phcebe  and  the  two 
boys  entered.  It  was  still  that  delightful  period,  be- 
fore-school,  when  laughter  could  be  released  and 
voices  raised  without  a  fear  of  "  keep  quiet."  The 
children  moved  to  the  teacher's  desk  as  though  drawn 
by  magnetic  force.  Mary  Warner,  her  dark  curls 
hanging  over  her  shoulders,  appeared  already  ac- 
quainted with  her.  Several  tiny  beginners  stood  near 
the  desk,  a  few  older  scholars  were  bravely  offering 
their  services  to  fetch  water  from  Eby's  "  whenever 
it's  all  or  you  want  some  fresh,"  or  else  stay  and  clap 
the  erasers  clean. 

When  the  second  tug  at  the  bell-rope  gave  the  final 
call  for  the  opening  of  school  there  was  an  air  of  glad- 
ness in  the  room.  The  new  teacher  possessed  enough 
of  the  elusive  "  something  "  the  country  children  felt 
belonged  to  a  teacher  from  a  big  city  like  Philadelphia. 
The  way  she  conducted  the  opening  exercises,  led  the 
singing,  and  then  proceeded  with  the  business  of  ar- 
ranging classes  and  assigning  lessons  served  to  intensify 


62  PATCHWORK 

the  first  feelings  of  satisfaction.  When  recess  came 
the  children  ran  outdoors,  ostensibly  to  play,  but  rather 
to  gather  into  little  groups  and  discuss  the  merits  of 
the  neW  teacher.  The  general  verdict  was,  "  She's 
all  right." 

"Ain't  she  all  right?"  David  Eby  asked  Phcebe  as 
they  stood  in  the  brown  grasses  near  the  school  porch. 

"Ach,  don't  ask  me  that  so  often!  " 

"  But  honest  now,  Phcebe,  don't  you  like  her?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  When  will  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  came  the  tantalizing  answer. 

"Ach,  sometimes,  Phcebe,  you  make  me  mad!  You 
act  dumb  just  like  the  other  girls  sometimes." 

"  Then  keep  away  from  me  if  you  don't  like  me," 
she  retorted. 

"  Sassbox ! "  said  the  boy  and  walked  away  from 
her. 

The  little  tilt  with  David  did  not  improve  the  girl's 
humor.  She  entered  the  schoolroom  with  a  sulky 
look  on  her  face,  her  blue  eyes  dark  and  stormy.  Ac- 
cordingly, when  Mary  Warner  shook  her  enviable 
curls  and  leaned  forward  to  whisper  ecstatically, 
"Phcebe,  don't  you  just  love  the  new  teacher?" 
Phcebe  replied  very  decidedly,  "  I  do  not!  I  don't  like 
her  at  all!" 

For  a  moment  Mary  held  her  breath,  then  a  sur- 
prised "  Oh ! "  came  from  her  lips  and  she  raised  her 
hand  and  waved  it  frantically  to  attract  the  teacher's 
attention. 

"What  is  it,  Mary?" 


THE  NEW  TEACHER  63 

"Why,  Miss  Lee,  Phoebe  Metz  says  she  don't  like 
you  at  all !  " 

"  Did  she  ask  you  to  tell  me?  "  A  faint  flush  crept 
into  the  face  of  the  teacher. 

«  No— but " 

"  Then  that  will  do,  Mary." 

But  Phoebe  Metz  did  not  dismiss  the  matter  so 
easily.  She  turned  in  her  seat  and  gave  one  of  Mary's 
obnoxious  curls  a  vigorous  yank. 

"  Tattle-tale !  "  she  hurled  out  madly.  "  Big  tattle- 
tale!" 

"  Yank  'em  again,"  whispered  David,  seated  a  few 
seats  behind  the  girls,  but  Phares  called  out  a  soft, 
"  Phoebe,  stop  that." 

It  all  occurred  in  a  moment — the  yank,  the  outcry 
of  Mary,  the  -whispers  of  the  two  boys  and  the  sub- 
sequent pause  in  the  matter  of  teaching  and  the  center- 
ing of  every  child's  attention  upon  the  exciting  incident 
and  wondering  what  Miss  Lee  would  do  with  the  dis- 
turbers of  the  peace. 

"  Phoebe,"  the  teacher's  voice  was  controlled  and 
forceful,  "  you  may  fold  your  hands.  You  do  not 
seem  to  know  what  to  do  with  them." 

Phoebe  folded  her  hands  and  bowed  her  head  in 
shame.  She  hadn't  meant  to  create  a  disturbance. 
What  would  her  father  say  when  he  knew  she  was 
scolded  the  first  day  of  school! 

The  teacher's  voice  went  on,  "  Mary  Warner,  you 
may  come  to  me  at  noon.  I  want  to  tell  you  a  few 
things  about  tale-bearing.  Phoebe  may  remain  after 
the  others  leave  this  afternoon." 


64  PATCHWORK 

"Kept  in!"  thought  Phoebe  disconsolately.  She 
was  going  to  be  kept  in  the  first  day!  Never  before 
had  such  punishment  been  meted  out  to  her!  The 
disgrace  almost  overwhelmed  her. 

"Now  I  won't  ever,  ever,  ever  like  her!"  she 
thought  as  she  bent  her  head  to  hide  the  tears. 

The  remainder  of  the  day  was  like  a  blurred  page  to 
her.  She  was  glad  when  the  other  children  picked  up 
their  books  and  empty  baskets  and  kettles  and  started 
homeward. 

"  Cheer  up,"  whispered  David  as  he  passed  out,  but 
she  was  too  miserable  to  smile  or  answer. 

"  Come  on,  David,"  urged  Phares  when  the  two 
cousins  reached  outdoors  and  the  younger  one  seemed 
reluctant  to  go  home.  "  Don't  stay  here  to  pet 
Phoebe  when  she  comes  out." 

"  Ach,  the  poor  kid  " — David  was  all  sympathy  and 
tenderness. 

"  Let  her  get  punished.  Pulling  Mary's  hair  like 
that!" 

"  Well,  Mary  tattled.  I  was  wishing  Phoebe'd  yank 
that  darned  kid's  hair  half  off." 

"  Mary  just  told  the  truth.  You  think  everything 
Phoebe  does  is  right  and  you  help  her  along  in  her 
temper.  She  needs  to  be  punished  sometimes." 

"Ach,  you  make  me  tired,  standing  up  for  a  tattle- 
tale  !  Anyhow,  you  go  on  home.  I'm  goin*  to  hang 
round  a  while  and  see  if  Miss  Lee  does  anything 
mean." 

Phares  went  on  alone  and  the  other  boy  stole  to  a 
window  and  crouched  to  the  ground. 


THE  NEW  TEACHER  65 

Inside  the  room  Phoebe  waited  tremblingly  for  the 
teacher  to  speak.  It  seemed  ages  before  Miss  Lee 
walked  down  the  aisle  and  stood  by  the  low  desk. 

Phoebe  raised  her  head — the  look  in  the  dark  eyes 
of  the  teacher  filled  her  with  a  sudden  reversion  of 
feeling.  How  could  she  go  on  hating  any  one  so 
beautiful! 

"  Phoebe,  I'm  sorry — I'm  so  sorry  there  has  been 
any  trouble  the  first  day  and  that  you  have  been  the 
cause  of  it." 

"  I — ach,  Miss  Lee,"  the  child  blurted  out  half-sob- 
bingly,  "  Mary,  she  tattled  on  me." 

"  That  was  wrong,  of  course.  I  made  her  under- 
stand that  at  noon.  But  don't  you  think  that  pulling 
her  hair  and  creating  a  disturbance  was  equally 
wrong  ?  " 

"  I  guess  so,  mebbe.  But  I  didn't  mean  to  make  no 
fuss.  I — I — why,  I  just  get  so  mad  still!  I  hadn't 
ought  to  pull  her  hair,  for  that  hurts  vonderful  much." 

"  Then  you  might  tell  her  to-morrow  how  sorry  you 
are  about  it." 

"  Yes."  Phoebe  looked  up  at  the  lovely  face  of  the 
teacher.  She  felt  that  some  explanation  of  Mary's 
tale  was  necessary.  "  Why,  now,"  she  stammered, 
"  you  know — you  know  that  Mary  said  I  said  I  don't 
like  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Why,  this  summer  once,  early  in  June  it  was  " — 
the  child  hung  her  head  and  spoke  almost  inaudi- 
bly — "you  laughed  at  me  and  called  me  a  LITTLE 
DUTCHIE!"  She  looked  up  bravely  then  and  spoke 


66  PATCHWORK 

faster,  "And  for  that,  it's  just  for  that  I  don't  like 
you  like  all  the  others  do  a'ready." 

"  Laughed  at  you ! "  Miss  Lee  was  perplexed. 
"  You  must  be  mistaken." 

But  Phoebe  shook  her  head  resolutely  and  told  the 
story  of  the  pink  rose.  Miss  Lee  listened  at  first  with 
an  incredulous  smile  upon  her  face,  then  with  dawning 
remembrance. 

"  You  dear  child ! "  she  cried  as  Phoebe  ended  her 
quaint  recital.  "  So  you  are  the  little  girl  of  the  sun- 
bonnet  and  the  rose!  I  thought  this  morning  I  had 
seen  you  before.  But  you  don't  understand!  I  didn't 
laugh  at  you  in  the  way  you  think.  Why,  I  laughed 
at  you  just  as  we  laugh  at  a  dear  little  baby,  because 
we  love  it  and  because  it  is  so  dear  and  sweet.  And 
DUTCHIE  was  just  a  pet  name.  Can't  you  under- 
stand? You  were  so  quaint  and  interesting  in  your 
sunbonnet  and  with  the  pink  rose  pressed  to  your  face. 
Can't  you  understand  ?  " 

Phoebe  smiled  radiantly,  her  face  beaming  with  hap- 
piness. 

"Ach,  ain't  that  simple  now  of  me,  Miss  Lee?  "  she 
said  in  her  old-fashioned  manner.  "  I  was  so  dumb 
and  thought  you  was  makin'  fun  of  me,  and  just  for 
that  all  summer  I  was  wishin*  school  would  not  start 
ever.  And  I  was  sayin'  all  the  time  I  ain't  goin'  to 
like  you.  But  now  I  do  like  you,"  she  added  softly. 

"  I  am  glad  we  understand  each  other,  Phoebe." 

Miss  Lee  was  genuinely  interested  in  the  child,  at- 
tracted by  the  charming  personality  of  the  country 
girl.  Of  the  thirty  children  of  that  school  she  felt 


THE  NEW  TEACHER  67 

that  Phoebe  Metz,  in  spite  of  her  old-fashioned  dress 
and  older- fashioned  ways,  was  the  preeminent  figure. 
It  would  be  a  delight  to  teach  a  child  whose  face  could 
light  with  so  much  animation. 

"  Now,  Phoebe,"  she  said,  "  since  we  understand 
each  other  and  have  become  friends,  gather  your  books 
and  hurry  home.  Your  mother  may  be  anxious  about 
you." 

"  Not  my  mother,"  Phoebe  replied  soberly.  "  I  ain't 
got  no  mom.  It's  my  Aunt  Maria  and  my  pop  takes 
care  of  me.  My  mom's  dead  long  a' ready.  But  I'm 
goin'  now,"  she  ended  brightly  before  Miss  Lee  could 
answer.  "And  the  road's  all  down-hill  so  it  won't 
take  me  long." 

So  she  gathered  her  books  and  kettle,  said  good-bye 
to  Miss  Lee  and  hurried  from  the  schoolhouse.  When 
she  was  fairly  on  the  road  she  broke  into  her  habit  of 
soliloquy:  "Ach,  if  she  ain't  the  nicest  lady!  So 
pretty  she  is  and  so  kind!  She  was  vonderful  kind 
after  what  I  done.  The  teacher  we  had  last  year,  now, 
he  would  'a'  slapped  my  hands  with  a  ruler,  he  was  aw- 
ful for  rulers !  But  she  just  looked  at  me  and  I  was  so 
sorry  for  bein'  bad  that  I  could  'a'  cried.  And  when 
she  touched  my  hands — her  hands  is  soft  like  the  milk- 
weed silk  we  find  still  in  the  fall — I  just  had  to  like 
her.  I  like  her  now  and  I'm  goin'  to  be  a  good  girl 
for  her  and  when  I  grow  up  I  wish  I'd  be  just  like  her, 
just  esactly  like  her." 

David  Eby  waited  until  he  was  certain  no  harm  was 
coming  to  Phoebe,  He  heard  her  say,  "  Now  I  do  like 
you  "  and  knew  that  the  matter  was  being  settled  sat- 


68  PATCHWORK 

isfactorily.  Relieved,  yet  ashamed  of  his  eavesdrop- 
ping, he  ran  down  the  road  toward  his  home. 

"That  teacher's  all  right,"  he  thought.  "But 
Jimminy,  girls  is  funny  things !  " 

He  went  on,  whistling,  but  stopped  suddenly  as  he 
turned  a  curve  in  the  road  and  saw  Phares  sitting  on 
the  grass  in  the  shelter  of  a  clump  of  bushes. 

The  older  boy  rose.  "  David,"  he  said  sternly, 
"you're  spoiling  Phoebe  Metz  with  your  petting  and 
fooling  around  her.  What  for  need  you  pity  her  when 
she  gets  kept  in  for  being  bad  ?  She  was  bad !  " 

"She  was  not  bad!"  David  defended  staunchly. 
"  That  Mary  Warner  makes  me  sick.  Phoebe's  got 
some  sense,  anyhow,  and  she's  not  bad.  There's 
nothing  bad  in  her." 

"  Urn,"  said  Phares  tauntingly,  "  mebbe  you  like  her 
already  and  next  you'll  want  her  for  your  girl.  You 
give  her  pink  roses  and  you  stay  to  lick  the  teacher 
for  her  if " 

But  the  sentence  was  never  finished.  At  the  first 
words  David's  eyes  flashed,  his  hands  doubled  into 
hard  fists  and,  as  his  cousin  paid  no  heed  to  the  warn- 
ing, he  struck  out  suddenly,  then  partially  restraining 
his  rage,  he  unclenched  his  right  hand  and  gave  Phares 
a  smarting  slap  upon  the  mouth. 

"  I'll  learn  you,"  he  growled,  "  to  meddle  in  my 
business !  You  mind  your  own,  d'ye  hear  ?  " 

"  Why  " — Phares  knew  no  words  to  answer  the 
insult — "  why,  David,"  he  stammered,  wiping  his 
smarting  lips. 

But  his  silence  added  fuel  to  the  other's  wrath. 


THE  NEW  TEACHER  69 

"  You  butt  in  too  much,  that's  what!  "  said  David. 
"  It's  just  like  Phoebe  says,  you  boss  too  much.  I  ain't 
going  to  take  it  no  more  from  you." 

"  I — now — mebbe  I  do,"  admitted  Phares. 

At  the  words  David's  anger  cooled.  He  laid  a  hand 
on  the  older  boy's  arm,  as  older  men  might  have 
gripped  hands  in  reconciliation.  "  Come  on,  Phares," 
he  said  in  natural,  friendly  tones.  "  I  hadn't  ought 
to  hit  you.  Let's  forget  all  about  it.  You  and  me 
mustn't  fight  over  Phoebe." 

"  That's  so,"  agreed  Phares,  but  both  were  thought- 
ful and  silent  as  they  went  down  the  lane. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD 

PHCEBE'S  aspiration  to  become  like  her  teacher  did 
not  lessen  as  the  days  went  on.  Her  profound  admira- 
tion-for  Miss  Lee  developed  into  intense  devotion,  a 
devotion  whose  depth  she  carefully  guarded  from  dis- 
covery. 

To  her  father's  interested  questioning  she  answered 
a  mere,  "  Why,  I  like  her,  for  all,  pop.  She  didn't 
laugh  to  make  fun  at  me.  I  think  she's  nice."  But 
secretly  the  little  girl  thought  of  her  new  teacher  in 
the  most  extravagant  superlatives.  Her  heart  was 
experiencing  its  first  "  hero  "  worship ;  the  poetic,  im- 
aginative soul  of  the  child  was  attracted  by  the  mag- 
netic personality  of  Miss  Lee.  The  teacher's  smiles, 
mannerisms,  dress,  and  above  all,  her  English,  were 
objects  worthy  of  emulation,  thought  the  child.  At 
times  Phoebe  despaired  of  ever  becoming  like  Miss 
Lee,  then  again  she  felt  certain  she  had  within  her  pos- 
sibilities to  become  like  the  enviable,  wonderful  Vir- 
ginia Lee.  But  she  breathed  to  none  her  ambitions 
and  hopes  except  at  night  as  she  knelt  by  her  high  old- 
fashioned  bed  and  bent  her  head  to  say  the  prayer 
Aunt  Maria  had  taught  her  in  babyhood.  Then  to  the 
prayer,  "  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,"  she  added  an 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD  71 

original  petition,  "And  please  let  me  get  like  my 
teacher,  Miss  Lee.  Amen." 

"Aunt  Maria,  church  is  on  the  hill  Sunday,  ain't 
it  ?  "  she  asked  one  day  after  several  weeks  of  school. 

"  Yes.  And  I  hope  it's  nice,  for  we  make  ready  for 
a  lot  of  company  always  when  we  have  church  here." 

"  Why,"  the  child  asked  eagerly,  "  dare  I  ask  Miss 
Lee  to  come  here  for  dinner  too  that  Sunday  ?  Mary 
Warner's  mom  had  her  for  dinner  la^st  Sunday." 

"Ach,  yes,  I  don't  care.  You  ask  her.  Mebbe  she 
ain't  been  in  a  plain  church  yet  and  would  like  to  go 
with  us  and  then  come  home  for  dinner  here.  You 
ask  her  once." 

Phcebe  trembled  a  bit  as  she  invited  the  teacher  to 
the  gray  farmhouse.  "  Miss  Lee — why — we  have 
church  here  on  the  hill  this  Sunday  and  Aunt  Maria 
thought  perhaps  you'd  like  to  come  out  and  go  with 
us  and  then  come  to  our  house  for  dinner.  We  always 
have  a  lot  of  people  for  dinner." 

"  I'd  love  to,  Phoebe,  thank  you,"  answered  Miss 
Lee. 

The  plain  sects  of  that  community  were  all  novel  to 
her.  She  was  eager  to  attend  a  service  in  the  meeting- 
house on  the  hill  and  especially  eager  to  meet  Phoebe's 
people  and  study  the  unusual  child  in  the  intimate 
circle  of  home. 

"  Tell  your  aunt  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  go  to  the 
service  with  you,"  she  said  as  Phcebe  stood  speechless 
with  joy.  "  Will  you  go  ?  " 

"Ach,  yes,  I  go  always,"  with  a  surprised  widening 
of  the  blue  eyes. 


72  PATCHWORK 

"And  your  aunt,  too?  " 

"  Why  be  sure,  yes!  Abody  don't  stay  home  from 
church  when  it's  so  near.  That  would  look  like  we 
don't  want  company.  There's  church  on  the  hill  only 
every  six  weeks  and  the  other  Sundays  it's  at  other 
churches.  Then  we  drive  to  those  other  churches  and 
people  what  live  near  ask  us  to  come  to  their  house 
for  dinner,  and  we  go.  Then  when  it's  here  on  the 
hill  we  must  ask  people  that  live  far  off  to  come  to  us 
for  dinner.  That  way  everybody  has  a  place  to  go. 
It  makes  it  nice  to  go  away  and  to  have  company  still. 
We  always  have  a  lot  when  church  is  here.  Aunt 
Maria  cooks  so  good." 

She  spoke  the  last  words  innocently  and  looked  up 
with  an  expression  of  wonder  as  she  heard  Miss  Lee 
laugh  gaily — now  what  was  funny?  Surely  Miss  Lee 
laughed  when  there  was  nothing  at  all  to  laugh  about ! 

"  What  time  does  your  service  begin  ?  "  asked  the 
teacher.  "  What  time  do  you  leave  the  house?  " 

"  It  takes  in  at  nine  o'clock " 

Miss  Lee  smothered  an  ejaculation  of  surprise. 

"  But  we  leave  the  house  a  little  after  half -past 
eight.  Then  we  can  go  easy  up  the  hill  and  have  time 
to  walk  around  on  the  graveyard  a  little  and  get  in 
church  early  and  watch  the  people  come  in." 

"  I'll  stop  for  you  and  go  with  you,  Phoebe." 

Sunday  morning  at  the  Metz  farm  was  no  time  for 
prolonged  slumber.  With  the  first  crowing  of  roost- 
ers Aunt  Maria  rose.  After  the  early  breakfast  there 
were  numerous  tasks  to  be  performed  before  the  de- 
parture for  the  meeting-house.  There  was  the  milking 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD  73 

to  be  done  and  the  cans  of  milk  placed  in  the  cool 
spring-house;  the  chickens  and  cattle  to  be  fed;  each 
room  of  the  big  house  to  be  dusted;  vegetables  to  be 
prepared  for  a  hasty  boiling  after  the  return  from  the 
service;  preserves  and  canned  fruits  to  be  brought 
from  the  cellar,  placed  into  glass  dishes  and  set  in 
readiness. 

At  eight-fifteen  Phoebe  was  ready.  She  wore  her 
favorite  blue  chambray  dress  and  delighted  in  the  fact 
that  Sunday  always  brought  her  the  privilege  of  wear- 
ing her  hat.  The  little  sailor  hat  with  its  narrow  rib- 
bon and  little  bow  was  certainly  not  the  hat  she  would 
have  chosen  if  she  might  have  had  that  pleasure,  but 
it  was  the  'only  hat  she  owned,  so  was  not  to  be 
despised.  She  felt  grateful  that  Aunt  Maria  allowed 
her  to  wear  a  hat.  Many  little  girls,  some  smaller  than 
she,  came  to  church  every  Sunday  wearing  silk  bonnets 
like  their  elders! — she  felt  grateful  for  her  hat — any 
hat! 

Tugging  at  the  elastic  under  her  chin,  then  smooth- 
ing her  handkerchief  and  placing  it  in  her  sleeve — she 
had  seen  Miss  Lee  dispose  of  a  handkerchief  in  that 
way — she  walked  to  the  little  green  gate  and  watched 
the  road  leading  from  Greenwald. 

Her  heart  leaped  when  she  saw  the  teacher  come 
down  the  long  road.  She  opened  the  gate  to  go  to 
meet  her,  then  suddenly  stood  still.  Miss  Lee  as  she 
appeared  in  the  schoolroom,  in  white  linen  dress  or 
trim  serge  skirt  and  tailored  waist,  was  attractive 
enough  to  cause  Phoebe's  heart  to  flutter  with  admira- 
tion a  dozen  times  a  day;  but  Miss  Lee  in  Sunday 


74  PATCHWORK 

morning  church  attire  was  so  irresistibly  sweet  that 
the  vision  sent  the  little  girl's  heart  pounding  and 
caused  a  strange  shyness  to  possess  her.  The  semi- 
tailored  dress  of  dark  blue  taffeta,  the  sheer  white  col- 
lar, the  small  black  hat  with  its  white  wings,  the  silver 
coin  purse  in  the  gloved  hand — no  detail  escaped  the 
keen  eyes  of  the  child.  She  looked  down  at  her  cotton 
dress — it  had  seemed  so  pretty  just  a  moment  ago. 
But,  of  course,  such  dresses  and  gloves  and  hats  were 
for  grown-ups !  "  But  just  you  wait,"  she  thought, 
"  when  I  grow  up  I'll  look  like  that,  too,  see  if  I 
don't!" 

Miss  Lee,  smiling,  never  knew  the  depths  she  stirred 
in  the  heart  of  the  little  girl. 

"Am  I  late,  Phoebe?" 

"Ach,  no.  Just  on  time.  Pop,  he  went  a'ready, 
though.  He  goes  early  still  to  open  the  meeting-house. 
We'll  go  right  away,  as  soon  as  Aunt  Maria  locks  up. 
But  what  for  did  you  bring  a  pocketbook  ?  " 

"  For  the  offering." 

"Offering?" 

"  The  church  offering,  Phcebe.  Surely  you  know 
what  that  is  if  you  go  to  church  every  Sunday.  Don't 
you  have  collection  plates  or  baskets  passed  about  in 
your  church  for  everybody  to  put  their  offerings  on 
them?" 

"  Why,  no,  we  don't  have  that  in  our  church !  What 
for  do  they  do  that  in  any  church  ?  " 

"  To  pay  the  preachers'  salaries  and " 

"  Goodness,"  Phoebe  laughed,  "  it  would  take  a 
vonderful  lot  to  pay  all  the  preachers  that  preach  at 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD  75 

our  church.  Sometimes  three  or  four  preach  at  one 
meeting.  They  have  to  work  week-days  and  get  their 
money  just  like  other  men  do.  Men  come  around  to 
the  house  sometimes  for  money  for  the  poor,  and  when 
the  meeting-house  needs  a  new  roof  or  something 
like  that,  everybody  helps  to  pay  for  it,  but  we  don't 
take  no  collections  in  church,  like  you  say.  That's  a 
funny  way " 

The  appearance  of  Maria  Metz  prevented  further 
discussion  of  church  collections.  With  a  large,  fringed 
shawl  pinned  over  her  plain  gray  dress  and  a  stiff  black 
silk  bonnet  tied  under  her  chin,  she  was  ready  for 
church.  She  was  putting  the  big  iron  key  of  the 
kitchen  door  into  a  deep  pocket  of  her  full  skirt  as  she 
came  down  the  walk. 

"  That  way,  now  we're  ready,"  she  said  affably. 
"  I  guess  you're  Phoebe's  teacher,  ain't?  I  see  you  go 
past  still." 

"  Yes.  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you,  Miss  Metz. 
It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  invite  me  to  go  with  you." 

"Ach,  that's  nothing.  You're  welcome  enough. 
We  always  have  much  company  when  church  is  on  the 
hill.  This  is  a  nice  day,  so  I  guess  church  will  be  full. 
I  hope  so,  anyway,  for  I  got  ready  for  company  for 
dinner.  But  how  do  you  like  Greenwald  ?  " 

"  Very  well,  indeed.     It  is  beautiful  here." 

"Ain't!  But  I  guess  it's  different  from  Phildelphy. 
I  was  there  once,  in  the  Centennial,  and  it  was  so  full 
everywheres.  I  like  the  country  best.  Can't  any- 
thing beat  this  now,  can  it  ?  " 

They  reached  the  summit  of  the  hill  and  paused. 


76  PATCHWORK 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Lee,  "  this  is  hard  to  beat.  I  love 
the  view  from  this  hill." 

"Ain't  now" — Aunt  Maria  smiled  in  approval — 
"  this  here  is  about  the  nicest  spot  around  Greenwald. 
There's  the  town  so  plain  you  could  almost  count  the 
houses,  only  the  trees  get  in  the  road.  And  there's 
the  reservoir  with  the  white  fence  around,  and  the 
farms  and  the  pretty  country  around  them — it's  a 
pretty  place." 

"  I  like  this  hill,"  said  Phoebe.  "  When  I  grow  up 
I'm  goin'  to  have  a  farm  on  this  hill,  when  I'm  mar- 
1  ried,  I  mean." 

"That's  too  far  off  yet,  Phoebe,"  said  her  aunt. 
"  You  must  eat  bread  and  butter  yet  a  while  before 
you  think  of  such  things." 

"Anyhow,  I  changed  my  mind.  I'm  not  goin'  to 
live  in  the  country  when  I  grow  up ;  I'm  going  to  be  a 
fine  lady  and  live  in  the  city." 

"  Phcebe,  stop  that  dumb  talk,  now !  "  reproved  her 
aunt  sternly.  "  You  turn  round  and  walk  up  the  hill. 
We'll  go  on  now,  Miss  Lee.  Mebbe  you'd  like  to  go 
on  the  graveyard  a  little  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mind." 

"  Then  come."  Aunt  Maria  led  the  way,  past  the 
low  brick  meeting-house,  through  the  gateway  into  the 
old  burial  ground.  They  wandered  among  the  marble 
slabs  and  read  the  inscriptions,  some  half  obliterated 
by  years  of  mountain  storms,  others  freshly  carved. 

"  The  epitaphs  are  interesting,"  said  Miss  Lee. 

"What's  them?"  asked  Phoebe. 

"  The  verses  on  the  tombstones.     Here  is  one  " — 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD  77 

she  read  the  inscription  on  the  base  of  a  narrow  gray 
stone — "  'After  life's  fitful  fever  she  sleeps  well.' ' 

"Ach,"  Aunt  Maria  said  tartly,  "  I  guess  her  man 
knowed  why  he  put  that  on.  That  poor  woman  had 
three  husbands  and  eleven  children,  so  I  guess  she  had 
fitful  fever  enough." 

Phoebe  laughed  loud  as  she  saw  the  smile  on  the  face 
of  her  teacher,  but  next  moment  she  sobered  under  the 
chiding  of  Aunt  Maria.  "  Phoebe,  now  you  keep  quiet ! 
Abody  don't  laugh  and  act  so  on  a  graveyard !  " 

"  Ugh,"  the  child  said  a  moment  later,  "  Miss  Lee, 
just  read  this  one.  It  always  gives  me  shivers  when 
I  read  it  still. 

"  '  Remember,  man,  as  you  pass  by, 
What  you  are  now  that  once  was  I. 
What  I  am  now  that  you  will  be ; 
Prepare  for  death  and  follow  me.' " 

"  That  is  rather  startling,"  said  Miss  Lee. 

Phoebe  smiled  and  asked,  "  Don't  you  think  this  is  a 
pretty  graveyard  ?  " 

"  Yes.  How  well  cared  for  the  graves  are.  Not 
a  weed  on  most  of  them." 

"  Well,"  Aunt  Maria  explained,  "  the  people  who 
have  dead  here  mostly  take  care  of  the  graves.  We 
come  up  every  two  weeks  .or  so  and  sometimes  we 
bring  a  hoe  and  fix  our  graves  up  nice  and  even.  But 
some  people  are  too  lazy  to  keep  the  graves  clean.  I 
hoed  some  pig-ears  out  a  few  graves  last  week;  I  was 
ashamed  of  'em,  even  if  the  graves  didn't  belong  to  us." 

In  the  corner  near  the  road  the  aunt  stopped  before 
a  plain  gray  boulder. 


78  PATCHWORK 

"  Phoebe's  mom,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  inscrip- 
tion. 

"PHCEBE 
beloved  wife  of 

Jacob  Mets 
aged  twenty-two  years 

and  one  month. 

Souls  of  the  righteous 

are  in  the  hand  of  God." 

"  I'm  glad,"  said  the  child  as  they  stood  by  her 
mother's  grave,  "  that  they  put  that  last  on,  for  when 
I  come  here  still  I  like  to  know  that  my  mom  ain't 
under  all  this  dirt  but  that  she's  up  in  the  Good  Place 
like  it  says  there." 

Miss  Lee  clasped  the  little  hand  in  hers — what 
words  were  adequate  to  express  her  feeling  for  the 
motherless  child ! 

"  Come  on,"  Maria  Metz  said  crisply,  "  or  we'll  be 
late."  But  Miss  Lee  read  in  the  brusqueness  a  strong 
feeling  of  sorrow  for  the  child. 

Silently  the  three  walked  through  the  green  aisles  of 
the  old  graveyard,  Aunt  Maria  leading  the  way,  alone ; 
Phoebe's  hand  still  in  the  hand  of  her  teacher. 

To  Miss  Lee,  whose  hours  of  public  worship  had 
hitherto  been  spent  in  an  Episcopal  church  in  Philadel- 
phia, the  extreme  plainness  of  the  meeting-house  on  the 
hill  brought  a  sense  of  acute  wonderment.  The  con- 
trast was  so  marked.  There,  in  the  city,  was  the 
large,  high-vaulted  church  whose  in-streaming  light 
was  softened  by  exquisite  stained  windows  and  re- 
vealed each  detail  of  construction  and  color  harmo- 
niously consistent.  Here,  in  the  country,  was  the 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD  79 

square,  low-ceilinged  meeting-house  through  whose 
open  windows  the  glaring  light  relentlessly  intensified 
the  whiteness  of  the  walls  and  revealed  more  plainly 
each  flaw  and  knot  in  the  unpainted  pine  benches. 
Yet  the  meeting-house  on  the  hill  was  strangely, 
strongly  representative  of  the  frank,  honest,  unpre- 
tentious people  who  worshipped  there,  and  after  the 
first  wave  of  surprise  a  feeling  of  interest  and  rever- 
ence held  her. 

It  was  a  unique  sight  for  the  city  girl.  The  rows 
of  white-capped  women  were  separated  from  the  rows 
of  bearded  men  by  a  low  partition  built  midway  down 
the  body  of  the  church.  Each  sex  entered  the  meet- 
ing-house through  a  different  door  and  sat  in  its 
apportioned  half  of  the  building.  On  each  side  of  the 
room  rows  of  black  hooks  were  set  into  the  walls.  On 
these  hooks  the  sisters  hung  their  bonnets  and  the 
shawls  and  the  brethren  placed  their  hats  and  overcoats 
during  the  service. 

The  preachers,  varying  in  number  from  two  to  six, 
sat  before  a  long  table  in  the  front  part  of  the  meeting- 
house. When  the  duty  of  preaching  devolved  upon 
one  of  them  he  simply  rose  from  his  seat  and  delivered 
his  message. 

As  Aunt  Maria  and  her  two  followers  took  their 
seats  on  a  bench  near  the  front  of  the  church  a 
preacher  rose. 

"  Let  us  join  in  singing — has  any  one  a  choice?  " 

Miss  Lee  started  as  a  woman's  voice  answered, 
"  Number  one  hundred  forty-seven."  However,  her 
surprise  merged  into  other  emotions  as  the  old  hymn 


80  PATCHWORK 

rose  in  the  low-ceilinged  room.  There  was  no  accom- 
paniment of  any  musical  instrument,  just  a  harmoni- 
ous blending  of  the  deep-toned  voices  of  the  brethren 
with  the  sweet  Voices  of  the  sisters.  The  music 
swelled  in  full,  deliberate  rhythm,  its  calm  earnest- 
ness bearing  witness  to  the  fact  that  every  word  of  the 
hymn  was  uttered  in  a  spirit  of  worship. 

Maria  Metz  sang  very  softly,  but  Phoebe's  young 
voice  rose  clearly  in  the  familiar  words,  "  Jesus,  Lover 
of  my  soul." 

Miss  Lee  listened  a  moment  to  the  sweet  voice  of 
the  child  by  her  side,  then  she,  too,  joined  in  the  sing- 
ing— feeling  the  words,  as  she  had  never  before  felt 
them,  to  be  the  true  expression  of  millions  of  mortals 
who  have  sung,  are  singing,  and  shall  continue  to  sing 
them. 

When  the  hymn  was  ended  another  preacher  arose 
and  Dpened  the  service  with  a  few  remarks,  then  asked 
all  to  kneel  in  prayer. 

Every  one — men,  women,  children — turned  and 
knelt  upon  the  bare  floor  while  the  preacher's  voice 
rose  in  a  simple  prayer.  As  the  Amen  fell  from  his 
lips  Miss  Lee  started  to  rise,  but  Phcebe  laid  a  restrain- 
ing hand  upon  her  and  whispered,  "  There's  yet 
one." 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence  in  the  meeting- 
house. Then  the  voice  of  another  preacher  rose  in  the 
universal  prayer,  "  Our  Father,  which  art  in  heaven." 
Every  extemporaneous  prayer  in  the  Church  of  the 
Brethren  is  complemented  by  the  model  prayer  the 
Master  taught  His  disciples. 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD  81 

There  was  another  hymn,  reading  of  the  Scriptures, 
and  then  the  sermon  proper  was  preached. 

Aunt  Maria  nodded  approvingly  as  the  preacher 
read,  "  Whose  adorning  let  it  not  be  that  outward 
adorning  of  plaiting  the  hair,  and  of  wearing  of  gold, 
or  of  putting  on  of  apparel;  but  let  it  be  the  hidden 
man  of  the  heart,  in  that  which  is  not  corruptible,  even 
the  ornament  of  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit,  which  is  in  the 
sight  of  God  of  great  price." 

"  You  listen  good  now  to  what  the  preacher  says," 
the  woman  whispered  to  Phoebe. 

The  child  looked  up  solemnly  at  her  aunt,  about  her 
at  the  many  white-capped  women,  then  up  at  Miss 
Lee's  pretty  hat  with  its  white  Mercury  wings — she 
was  endeavoring  to  justify  the  pleasure  and  beauty  her 
aunt  pronounced  vanity.  Was  Miss  Lee  really  wicked 
when  she  wore  clothes  like  that?  Surely,  no!  After 
a  few  moments  the  child  sighed,  folded  her  hands  and 
looked  steadfastly  at  the  tall  bearded  man  who  was 
preaching. 

The  clergy  among  these  plain  sects  receive  no  re- 
muneration for  their  preaching.  With  them  the  mer- 
cenary and  the  pecuniary  are  ever  distinct  from  the 
religious.  Six  days  in  the  week  the  preacher  follows 
the  plow  or  works  at  some  other  worthy  occupation; 
upon  the  seventh  day  he  preaches  the  Gospel.  There 
is,  therefore,  no  elaborate  preparation  for  the  sermon ; 
the  preacher  has  abundant  faith  in  the  old  admonition, 
'  Take  no  thought  how  or  what  ye  shall  speak,  for  it 
shall  be  given  you  in  that  same  hour  what  ye  shall 
speak,  for  it  is  not  ye  that  speak  but  the  spirit  of  the 


82  PATCHWORK 

Father  that  speaketh  in  you."  Thus  it  is  that,  while 
the  sermons  usually  lack  the  blandishments  of  fine 
rhetoric  and  the  rhythmic  ease  arising  from  oratorical 
ability,  they  seldom  fail  in  deep  sincerity  and  direct- 
ness of  appeal. 

The  one  who  delivered  the  message  that  September 
morning  told  of  the  joy  of  those  who  have  overcome 
the  desire  for  the  vanities  of  the  world,  extolled  the 
virtue  of  a  simple  life,  till  Miss  Lee  felt  convinced 
that  there  must  be  something  real  in  a  religion  that 
could  hold  its  followers  to  so  simple,  wholesome  a 
life. 

She  looked  about,  at  the  serried  rows  of  white- 
capped  women — how  gentle  and  calm  they  appeared  in 
their  white  caps  and  plain  dresses;  she  looked  across 
the  partition  at  the  lines  of  men — how  strong  and  hon- 
est their  faces  were;  and  the  children — she  had  never 
before  seen  so  many  children  at  a  church  service — 
would  they  all,  in  time,  wear  the  garb  of  their  people 
and  enter  the  church  of  their  parents?  The  child  at 
her  side — vivacious,  untiring,  responsive  Phoebe — 
would  she,  too,  wear  the  plain  dress  some  day  and  live 
the  quiet  life  of  her  people? 

The  eagerness  of  the  child's  face  as  Miss  Lee  looked 
at  her  denoted  intense  interest  in  the  sermon,  but  none 
could  know  the  real  cause  of  that  eagerness. 

"  I  won't,  I  just  won't  dress  plain !  "  she  was  think- 
ing. "  Anyway,  not  till  I'm  old  like  Aunt  Maria.  I 
want  to  look  like  Miss  Lee  when  I  grow  up.  And  that 
preacher  just  said  that  it  ain't  good  to  plait  the  hair, 
I  mean  he  read  it  out  the  Bible.  Mebbe  now  Aunt 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD  83 

Maria  will  leave  me  have  curls.  I  hope  she  heard 
him  say  that." 

She  sighed  in  relief  as  the  sermon  was  concluded 
and  the  next  preacher  rose  and  added  a  few  remarks. 
When  the  third  man  rose  to  add  his  few  remarks 
Phoebe  looked  up  at  Miss  Lee  and  whispered,  "  Guess 
he's  the  last  one  once !  " 

Miss  Lee  smiled.  The  service  was  rather  long,  but 
it  was  drawing  to  a  close.  There  was  another  prayer, 
another  hymn  and  the  service  ended. 

Immediately  the  white-capped  women  rose  and  be- 
gan to  bestow  upon  each  other  the  holy  kiss ;  upon  the 
opposite  side  of  the  church  the  brethren  greeted  each 
other  in  like  fashion.  Everywhere  there  were  greet- 
ings and  profferings  of  dinner  invitations. 

Maria  Metz  and  her  brother  did  not  fail  in  their 
duty.  In  a  few  minutes  they  had  invited  a  goodly 
number  to  make  the  gray  farmhouse  their  stopping- 
place.  Then  Aunt  Maria  hurried  home,  eager  to 
prepare  for  her  guests.  Soon  the  Metz  barnyard  was 
filled  with  carriages  and  automobiles  and  the  gray 
house  resounded  with  happy  voices.  Some  of  the 
women  helped  Maria  in  the  kitchen,  others  wandered 
about  in  the  old-fashioned  garden,  where  dahlias, 
sweet  alyssum,  marigolds,  ladies'  breastpin  and  snap- 
dragons still  bloomed  in  the  bright  September  sun- 
shine. 

Miss  Lee,  guided  by  Phoebe,  examined  every  nook  of 
the  big  garden,  peered  into  the  deserted  wren-house 
and  listened  to  the  child's  story  of  the  six  baby  wrens 
reared  in  the  box  that  summer.  Finally  Phoebe  sug- 


84  PATCHWORK 

gested  sitting  on  a  bench  half  screened  by  rose-bushes 
and  honeysuckle.  There,  in  that  green  spot,  Miss  Lee 
tactfully  coaxed  the  child  to  unfold  her  charming 
personality,  all  serenely  unconscious  of  the  fact  that 
inside  the  gray  house  the  white-capped  women  were 
discussing  the  new  teacher  as  they  prepared  the 
dinner. 

"  She  seems  vonderful  nice  and  common,"  volun- 
teered Aunt  Maria.  "  Not  stuck  up,  for  a  Phildelphy 
lady." 

"  Well,  why  should  she  be  stuck  up  ?  "  argued  one. 
"  Ain't  she  just  Mollie  Stern's  cousin  ?  Course,  Mol- 
lie's  nice,  but  nothing  tony." 

"  Anyhow,  the  children  all  like  her,"  spoke  up  an- 
other woman.  "  My  Enos  learns  good  this  year." 

"  I  guess  she's  all  right,"  said  another,  "  but 
Amande,  my  sister,  says  that  she's  after  her  Lizzie  all 
the  time  for  the  way  she  talks.  The  teacher  tells  her  all 
the  time  not  to  talk  so  funny,  not  to  get  her  t's  and  d's 
and  her  v's  and  w's  mixed.  Goodness  knows,  them 
letters  is  near  enough  alike  to  get  them  mixed  some- 
times. I  mix  them  myself.  Manda  don't  want  her 
Lizzie  made  high-toned,  for  then  nothing  will  be  good 
enough  for  her  any  more." 

"  Ach,  I  guess  Miss  Lee  won't  do  that,"  said  Aunt 
Maria.  "  I  know  I'm  glad  the  teacher  ain't  the  kind 
to  put  on  airs.  When  I  heard  they  put  in  a  teacher 
from  Phildelphy  I  was  afraid  she'd  be  the  kind  to  teach 
the  children  a  lot  of  dumb  notions  and  that  Phoebe 

would  be  spoiled Here,  Sister  Minnich,  is  the 

holder  for  that  pan.  I  guess  the  ham  is  fried  enough. 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD  85 

Yes,  ain't  the  chicken  smells  good!  I  roasted  it  yes- 
terday, so  it  needs  just  a  good  heating  to-day." 

"  Shall  I  take  the  sweet  potatoes  off,  Maria?  " 

"  Yes,  they're  brown  enough,  and  the  coffee's  about 
done,  and  plenty  of  it,  too." 

"  And  it  smells  good,  too,"  chorused  several  women. 

"  It's  just  twenty-eight  cent  coffee;  I  get  it  in  Green- 
wald.  I  guess  the  things  can  be  put  out  now.  Call 
the  men,  Susan." 

In  quick  order  the  long  table  in  the  dining-room — 
used  only  upon  occasions  like  this — was  filled  with 
smoking,  savory  dishes,  the  men  called  from  the 
porches  and  yard  and  everybody,  except  the  two 
women  who  helped  Aunt  Maria  to  serve,  seated  about 
the  board.  All  heads  were  bowed  while  one  of 
the  brethren  said  a  long  grace  and  then  the  feast 
began. 

True  to  the  standards  set  by  the  majority  of  the 
Pennsylvania  Dutch,  the  meal  was  fit  for  the  finest. 
There  was  no  attempt  to  serve  it  according  to  the  rules 
of  the  latest  book  of  etiquette.  All  the  food  was 
placed  upon  the  table  and  each  one  helped  herself  and 
himself  and  passed  the  dish  to  the  nearest  neighbor. 
Occasionally  the  services  of  the  three  women  were  re- 
quired to  bring  in  water,  bread  or  coffee,  or  to  replen- 
ish the  dishes  and  platters.  Everybody  was  in  good 
humor,  especially  when  one  of  the  brethren  suddenly 
found  himself  with  a  platter  of  chicken  in  one  hand 
and  a  pitcher  of  gravy  in  the  other. 

"  Hold  on,  here !  "  he  said  laughingly,  "  it's  coming 
both  ways.  I  can't  manage  it." 


86  PATCHWORK 

"  Now,  Isaac,"  chided  one  of  the  women,  "  you 
went  and  started  the  gravy  the  wrong  way  around. 
And  here,  Elam,  start  that  apple-butter  round  once. 
Maria  always  has  such  good  apple-butter." 

Miss  Lee's  ready  adaptability  proved  a  valuable 
asset  that  day.  Everybody  was  so  cordial  and  friendly 
that,  although  she  was  the  only  woman  without  the 
white  cap,  there  was  no  shadow  of  any  holier-than- 
thou  spirit.  She  was  accepted  as  a  friend;  as  a  lady 
from  Philadelphia  she  became  invested  with  a  charm 
and  interest  which  the  frank  country  people  did  not  try 
to  conceal.  They  spoke  freely  to  her  of  her  work  in 
the  school,  inquired  about  the  children  and  listened 
with  interest  as  she  answered  their  questions  about  her 
home  city. 

When  the  dinner  was  ended  heads  were  bowed  again 
and  thanks  rendered  to  God  for  the  blessings  received. 
Then  the  men  went  outdoors,  where  the  beehives, 
poultry  houses,  barns  and  orchards  of  the  farm  af- 
forded several  hours  of  inspection  and  discussion. 

Indoors  some  of  the  women  began  to  wash  dishes 
while  Aunt  Maria  and  her  helpers  ate  their  belated 
dinner ;  others  went  to  the  sitting-room  and  entertained 
themselves  by  rocking  and  talking  or  looking  at  the 
pictures  in  the  big  red  plush  album  which  lay  upon  a 
small  table. 

Later,  when  everything  was  once  more  in  order  in 
the  big  kitchen,  Maria  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the 
sitting-room. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  I  guess  we  better  go  up-stairs 
and  see  the  rugs  before  the  men  come  in.  Susan  said 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD  87 

she  wants  to  see  my  new  rugs  once  when  she  comes. 
So  come  on,  everybody  that  wants  to." 

"  You  come,"  Phoebe  invited  Miss  Lee.  "  I'll  show 
you  some  of  the  things  in  my  chest." 

Maria  led  the  way  to  the  spare-room  on  the  second 
floor,  a  large  square  room  furnished  in  old-fashioned 
country  style :  a  rag  carpet,  rag  rugs,  heavy  black  wal- 
nut bureau  and  wash-stand,  the  latter  with  an  antique 
bowl  and  pitcher  of  pink  and  white,  and  a  splasher  of 
white  linen  outlined  in  turkey  red  cotton.  A  framed 
cross-stitch  sampler  hung  on  the  wall ;  four  cane-seated 
chairs  and  a  great  wooden  chest  completed  the  furnish- 
ing of  the  room. 

The  chest  became  the  centre  of  attraction  as  Aunt 
Maria  opened  it  and  began  to  show  the  hooked  rugs 
she  had  made. 

Phcebe  waited  until  her  teacher  had  seen  and  ad- 
mired several,  then  she  tugged  at  the  silk  sleeve  ever 
so  gently  and  whispered,  "  D'ye  want  to  see  some  of 
the  things  I  made  ?  " 

Miss  Lee  smiled  and  nodded  and  the  two  stole  away 
to  the  child's  room. 

Phoebe  closed  the  door. 

"  This  is  my  room  and  this  is  my  Hope  Chest,"  she 
said  proudly. 

Among  many  of  the  Pennsylvania  Dutch  the  Hope 
Chest  has  long  been  considered  an  important  part  of  a 
girl's  belongings.  During  her  early  childhood  a  large 
chest  is  secured  and  the  stocking  of  it  becomes  a  pleas- 
ant duty.  Into  it  are  laid  the  girl's  discarded  infant 
clothes;  patchwork  quilts  and  comfortables  pieced  by 


88  PATCHWORK 

herself  or  by  some  fond  grandmother  or  mother  or 
aunt;  homespun  sheets  and  towels  that  have  been 
handed  down  from  other  generations;  ginghams, 
linens  and  minor  household  articles  that  might  be  use- 
ful in  her  own  home.  When  the  girl  leaves  the  old 
nest  for  one  of  her  own  building  the  Hope  Chest  goes 
with  her  as  a  valuable  portion  of  her  dowry. 

"  Hope  Chest,"  echoed  Miss  Lee.  "  Do  you  have  a 
Hope  Chest?" 

"  Ach,  yes,  long  already !  Aunt  Maria  says  it's  for 
when  I  grow  up  and  get  married  and  live  in  my  own 
home,  but  I — why,  I  don't  know  at  all  yet  if  I  want 
to  get  married.  When  I  say  that  to  her  she  says 
still  that  I  can  be  glad  I  have  the  chest  anyhow, 
for  old  maids  need  covers  and  aprons  and  things 
too." 

"  You  dear  child,"  Miss  Lee  said,  laughing,  "  you  do 
say  the  funniest  things !  " 

"  But " — Phoebe  raised  her  flushed  face — "  you  ain't 
laughing  at  me  to  make  fun  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Phoebe,  I  love  you  too  much  for  that.  It's 
just  that  you  are  different." 

"  Ach,  but  I'm  glad !  And  that's  why  I  want  to 
show  you  my  things." 

She  opened  the  lid  of  her  chest  and  brought  out  a 
quilt,  then  another,  and  another. 

"  This  is  all  mine.  And  I  finished  another  one  this 
summer  that  Aunt  Maria  is  going  to  quilt  this  fall  yet. 
Then  I'll  have  nine  already.  Ain't— isn't  that  a  lot?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  laughed  the  teacher.  "  Just  nine 
more  than  I  have." 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD  89 

"  Why  " — Phoebe  stared  in  surprise — "  don't  you 
have  quilts  in  your  Hope  Chest?  " 

"  I  haven't  even  the  Hope  Chest." 

"  No  Hope  Chest !  Now,  that's  funny !  I  thought 
every  girl  that  could  have  a  chest  for  the  money  had 
a  Hope  Chest!" 

"  I  never  heard  of  a  Hope  Chest  before  I  came  to 
Greenwald." 

"  Now  don't  it  beat  all!  "  The  child  was  very  seri- 
ous. "  We  ain't  at  all  like  other  people,  I  believe.  1 
wonder  why  we  are  so  different  from  you  people.  Oh, 
I  know  we  talk  different  from  you,  and  mostly  look 
different  from  you  and  I  guess  we  do  things  a  lot  dif- 
ferent from  you — do  you  think,  Miss  Lee,  oh,  do  you 
think  that  I  could  ever  get  like  you  ?  " 

"  Yes "     Miss  Lee  showed  hesitancy. 

"  For  sure  ?  "  Phoebe  asked,  quick  to  note  the  slight 
delay  in  the  answer. 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure  you  could,  dear.  You  can  learn  to 
dress,  speak  and  act  as  people  do  in  the  great  cities — 
but  are  you  sure  that  you  want  to  do  so  ?  " 

"  Want  to!  Why,  I  want  to  so  bad  that  it  hurts! 
I  don't  want  to  just  go  to  country  school  and  Green- 
wald High  School  and  then  live  on  a  farm  all  the  rest 
of  my  life  and  never  get  anywhere  but  to  the  store  in 
Greenwald,  to  Lancaster  several  times  a  year,  and  to 
church  every  Sunday.  I  want  to  do  some  things  other 
people  in  the  other  parts  of  the  country  do,  that's  what 
I  want.  I'd  like  best  of  all  to  be  a  great  singer  and  to 
look  and  dress  and  talk  like  you.  I  can  sing  good,  pop 
says  I  can." 


90  PATCHWORK 

"  I  have  noticed  you  have  a  sweet  voice." 

"  Ain't ! "  The  child's  voice  rang  with  gladness. 
"  I'm  so  glad  I  have.  And  David,  he's  glad  too,  for 
he  says  that  he  thinks  it's  a  gift  from  God  to  have  a 
voice  that  can  sing  as  nice  as  the  birds.  David  and 
Phares  are  just  like  my  brothers.  David's  mom  is 
awful  nice.  I  like  her  " — she  whispered — "  I  like  her 
almost  better  than  my  Aunt  Maria  because  she's  so — 
ach,  you  know  what  I  mean !  She's  so  much  like  my 
own  mom  would  be.  I  like  David  better  than  Phares, 
too,  because  Phares  bosses  me  too  much  and  he  is  won- 
derful strict  and  thinks  everything  is  bad  or  foolish. 
He  preaches  a  lot.  He  says  it's  bad  to  be  a  big  singer 
and  sing  for  the  people  and  get  money  for  it,  in  oprays, 
he  means — is  it  ?  " 

Miss  Lee  was  startled  by  the  ambition  of  the  child 
before  her  and  amazed  at  the  determination  revealed  in 
her  young  pupil.  Before  she  could  answer  wisely 
Phoebe  went  on: 

"  Now  David  says  still  I  could  be  a  big  opray  singer 
some  day  mebbe,  and  he  don't  think  it's  bad.  I  think 
still  that  singin'  is  about  like  havin'  curls — if  God  don't 
want  you  to  use  your  singin'  and  your  curls  what  did 
He  give  'em  to  you  for  ?  " 

Much  to  the  teacher's  relief  she  was  spared  the  diffi- 
culty of  answering  the  child.  The  aunt  was  bringing 
the  visitors  to  Phoebe's  room. 

"  Come  in  and  see  my  things,"  Phoebe  invited  cor- 
dially, as  though  curls  and  operatic  careers  had  never 
troubled  her.  In  the  excitement  of  displaying  her 
quilts  she  apparently  forgot  the  vital  problems  she  had 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD  91 

so  lately  discussed.  But  Miss  Lee  made  a  mental  com- 
ment as  she  stood  apart  and  watched  the  child  among 
the  white-capped  women,  "  That  little  girl  will  do 
things  before  she  settles  into  the  simple,  monotonous 
life  these  women  lead." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  PRIMA  DONNA  OF  THE  ATTIC 

"  AUNT  MARIA,  dare  I  go  without  sewing  just  this 
one  Saturday  ?  " 

It  was  Saturday  afternoon  in  early  October.  All 
the  week-end  work  of  the  farmhouse  was  done:  the 
walks  and  porches  scrubbed,  the  entire  house  cleaned, 
the  shelves  in  the  cellar  filled  with  pies  and  cakes. 
Maria  Metz  stood  by  the  wooden  frame  in  which  she 
had  sewed  Phoebe's  latest  quilt  and  chalked  lines  and 
half-moons  upon  the  calico,  preliminary  to  the  actual 
work  of  quilting. 

Phoebe's  face  was  eloquent  as  her  aunt  turned  and 
looked  down. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  the  woman  calmly. 

"  Ach,  because  it's  my  birthday,  eleven  I  am  to-day. 
And  pop's  going  to  bring  me  new  hair-ribbons  from 
Greenwald,  pretty  blue  ones,  I  asked  him  to  bring,  and 
nice  and  wide  " — she  opened  her  hands  in  imaginary 
picturing  of  the  width  of  the  new  ribbons — "  but  most 
of  all,"  she  hastened  to  add  as  she  saw  an  expression 
of  displeasure  on  her  aunt's  face,  "  I'd  like  to  have  a 
party  all  to  myself.  I  thought  that  so  long  as  you're 
going  to  have  women  in  to  help  you  quilt,  and  that  is 
like  a  party,  only  you  don't  call  it  so,  why  I  could  have 
a  party  for  me  alone.  I'd  like  to  play  all  afternoon  in- 


THE  PRIMA  DONNA  OF  THE  ATTIC    93 

stead  of  sewing  first  like  I  do  still.  Dare  I,  I  mean 
may  I  ?  " — in  conscientious  endeavor  to  speak  as  Miss 
Lee  was  trying  to  teach  her. 

Maria  Metz  smiled  at  the  little  girl's  idea  of  a  party, 
and  after  a  moment's  hesitation  replied,  "Adi,  yes 
well,  Phoebe,  I  don't  care." 

"  In  the  garret,  oh,  dare  I  go  in  the  garret  and 
play  ?  "  she  asked  excitedly. 

"  Yes,  I  guess.  If  you  put  everything  away  nice 
when  you  are  done  playin'." 

"  I  will." 

She  started  off  gleefully. 

"  And  be  careful  of  the  steps.  I'm  always  afraid 
you'll  fall  down  when  you  go  up  there,  the  steps  are 
so  narrow." 

"Ach,  I  won't  fall.  I'll  be  careful.  I'll  play  a 
while  and  then  shall  I  help  to  quilt  ?  "  she  offered  mag- 
nanimously in  return  for  the  privilege  of  playing  in  the 
garret. 

"  No,  I  don't  need  you.  But  you  can  quilt  nice,  too. 
The  last  time  you  took  littler  stitches  than  Lizzie  from 
the  Home,  but  she  don't  see  so  good.  But  you  needn't 
help  to-day,  for  so  many  can't  get  round  the  frame 
good.  Phares's  mom  and  David's  mom  and  Lyddy 
and  Granny  Hogendobler  and  Susan  are  comin',  and 
that's  enough  for  one  quilt.  You  go  play." 

In  a  moment  Phoebe  was  off,  up  the  broad  stairs  to 
the  second  floor.  There  she  paused  for  breath — "  Oh, 
it's  like  going  to  a  castle  somewhere  in  a  strange  coun- 
try, goin'  to  the  garret !  I'm  always  a  little  scared  at 
first,  goin'  to  the  garret." 


94  PATCHWORK 

With  a  laugh  she  turned  into  a  small  room,  opened 
a  latched  door,  closed  it  securely  behind  her,  and  stood 
upon  the  lower  step  of  the  attic  stairs.  She  looked 
about  a  moment.  Above  her  were  the  stained  rafters 
of  the  attic,  where  a  dim  light  invested  it  with  a 
strange,  half  fearful  interest. 

"  Ach,  now,  don't  be  a  baby,"  she  admonished  her- 
self. "  Go  right  up  the  stairs.  You're  a  queen — no, 
I  know! — You're  a  primer  donner  going  up  the  plat- 
form steps  to  sing !  " 

With  that  helpful  delusion  she  started  bravely  up  the 
stairs  and  never  paused  until  she  reached  the  top  step. 
She  ran  to  a  small  window  and  threw  it  wide  open  so 
that  the  October  sunshine  could  stream  in  and  make 
the  place  less  ghostly. 

"  Now  it's  fine  up  here,"  she  cried.  "  And  I  dare — 
I  may — talk  to  myself  all  I  want.  Aunt  Maria  say* 
it's  simple  to  talk  to  yourself,  but  goodness,  when 
abody  has  no  other  boys  or  girls  to  talk  to  half  the  time 
like  I  don't,  what  else  can  abody  do  but  talk  to  your 
own  self?  Anyhow,  I'm  up  here  now  and  dare  talk 
out  loud  all  I  want.  I'll  hunt  first  for  robbers." 

She  ran  about  the  big  attic,  peered  behind  every  old 
trunk  and  box,  even  inside  an  old  yellow  cupboard, 
though  she  knew  it  was  filled  with  old  school-books  and 
older  hymn-books. 

"  Not  a  robber  here,  less  he's  back  under  the  eaves." 

She  crept  into  the  low  nook  under  the  slanting  roof 
but  found  nothing  more  exciting  than  a  spider. 
"  Huh,  it's  no  fun  hunting  for  robbers.  Guess  I'll 
spin  a  while." 


THE  PRIMA  DONNA  OF  THE  ATTIC    95 

With  quick  variability  she  drew  a  low  stool  near  an 
old  spinning-wheel,  placed  her  foot  on  the  slender 
treadle  and  twisted  the  golden  flax  in  imitation  of  the 
way  Aunt  Maria  had  once  taught  her. 

"  I'll  weave  a  new  dress  for  myself — oh,  goody !  " 
she  cried,  springing  from  the  stool.  "  Now  I  know 
what  I'll  do!  I'll  dress  up  in  the  old  clothes  in  that 
old  trunk !  That'll  be  the  very  best  party  I  can  have." 

She  skipped  to  a  far  corner  of  the  attic,  where  a 
long,  leather-covered  trunk  stood  among  some  boxes. 
In  a  moment  the  clasps  were  unfastened,  the  lid  raised, 
a  protecting  cloth  lifted  from  the  top  and  the  contents 
of  the  trunk  exposed. 

The  child,  kneeling  before  the  trunk,  clasped  her 
hands  and  uttered  an  ecstatic,  "  Oh,  I'll  be  a  primer 
donner  now !  I  remember  there  used  to  be  a  wonder- 
ful fine  dress  in  here  somewhere." 

With  childish  feverishness,  yet  with  tenderness  and 
reverence  for  the  relics  of  a  long  dead  past,  she  lifted 
the  old  garments  from  the  trunk. 

"  The  baby  clothes  my  mom  wore — my  mother, 
Miss  Lee  always  says,  and  I  like  that  name  better,  too. 
My,  but  they're  little!  Such  tweeny,  weeny  sleeves! 
I  wonder  how  a  baby  ever  got  into  anything  so  tiny. 
I  bet  she  was  cunning — Miss  Lee  says  babies  are  cun- 
ning. And  here's  the  dress  and  cap  and  a  pair  of 
white  woolen  stockings  I  wore.  Aunt  Maria  told  me 
so  the  last  time  we  cleaned  house  and  I  helped  to  carry 
all  these  things  down-stairs  and  hang  them  out  in  the 
air  so  they  don't  spoil  here  in  the  trunk  all  locked  up 
tight.  I  wish  I  could  see  how  I  looked  when  I  wore 


96  PATCHWORK 

these  things.  I  wonder  if  I  was  a  nice  baby — but, 
ach,  all  babies  are  nice.  I  could  squeeze  every  one  I 
see,  only  when  they're  not  clean  I'd  want  to  wash  'em 
first.  And  here's  my  mom — mother's  wedding  dress, 
a  gray  silk  one.  Ain't  it  too  bad,  now,  it's  going  in 
holes!  And  this  satin  jacket  Aunt  Maria  said  my 
grandpap  wore  at  his  wedding;  it  has  a  silver  buckle 
at  the  neck  in  front.  And  next  comes  the  dress  I  like. 
It  was  my  mother's  mother's,  and  it's  awful  old.  But 
I  think  it's  fine,  with  the  little  pink  rosebuds  and  the 
lace  shawl  round  the  neck  and  the  long  skirt.  That's 
the  dress  I  must  wear  now  to  play  I'm  a  primer 
donner." 

She  held  out  the  old-fashioned  pink-sprigged  mus- 
lin, yellowed  with  age,  yet  possessing  the  charm  of  old, 
well-preserved  garments.  The  short,  puffed  sleeves, 
lace  fichu  and  full,  puffed  skirt  proclaimed  it  of  a  by- 
gone generation. 

"  It's  pretty,"  the  child  exulted  as  she  shook  out  the 
soft  folds.  "  Guess  I  can  slip  it  on  over  my  other 
dress,  it's  plenty  big.  It  must  button  in  the  front,  for 
that's  the  way  the  lace  shawl  goes.  Um — it's  long  " — 
she  looked  down  as  she  fastened  the  last  little  button. 
"  Oh,  I  know !  I'll  tuck  it  up  in  the  front  and  leave 
the  long  back  for  a  trail !  How's  that,  I  wonder." 

She  unearthed  an  old  mirror,  hung  it  on  a  nail  in 
the  wall  and  surveyed  herself  in  the  glass. 

"  Um,  I  don't  look  so  bad — but  my  hair  ain't  right. 
I  don't  know  how  primer  donners  wear  their  hair,  but 
I  know  they  don't  wear  it  in  two  plaits  like  mine." 

She  pulled   the  narrow  brown  ribbons   from  her 


THE  PRIMA  DONNA  OF  THE  ATTIC    97 

braids,  opened  the  braids  and  shook  her  head  vigor- 
ously until  her  curls  tumbled  about  her  head  and  over 
her  shoulders.  Then  she  knotted  the  two  ribbons  to- 
gether and  bound  them  across  her  hair  in  a  fillet,  tying 
them  in  a  bow  under  her  flowing  curls. 

"  Now,  I  guess  it's  as  good  as  I  can  fix  it.  I  wish 
Miss  Lee  could  see  me  now.  I  wish  most  of  all  my 
mom — mother  could  see  me.  Mebbe  she'd  say,  '  Pre- 
cious child,'  like  they  say  in  stories,  and  then  I'd  say 
back,  '  Mother  dear,  mother  dear '  " — she  lingered 
over  the  words — "  '  Mother  dear.'  But  mebbe  she  is 
saying  that  to  me  right  now,  seeing  it's  my  birthday. 
I'll  make  believe  so,  anyhow." 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  a  puzzled  expression 
on  her  face. 

"  I  just  don't  see,"  she  spoke  aloud  suddenly,  "  I 
don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  make  believe  I  have  a 
mother,  just  adopt  one  like  people  do  children  some- 
times. Aunt  Maria  says  it's  a  risk  to  adopt  some 
one's  child,  but  I  don't  see  that  it  would  be  a  risk  to 
adopt  a  mother.  Let  me  see  now— of  all  the  women 
I  know,  who  do  I  want  to  adopt?  Not  Mary  War- 
ner's mom — she's  stylish  and  wears  nice  dresses,  but 
I  don't  think  I'd  like  her  to  keep.  Not  Granny  Ho- 
gendobler,  though  she's  nice  and  I  like  her  a  lot,  a 
whole  lot,  and  I  wish  her  Nason  would  come  back,  but 
I  don't  see  how  I  could  take  her  for  my  mother ;  she's 
too  old  and  she  don't  wear  a  white  cap  and  my  mother 
did,  so  I  must  take  one  that  does.  I  don't  want 
Phares's  mom,  either.  Now,  David's  mom  I  like — 
yes,  I  like  her.  Most  everybody  calls  her  Aunty  Bab 


98  PATCHWORK 

and  I'm  just  goin'  to  ask  her  if  I  dare  call  her  Mother 
Bab!  Mother  Bab — I  like  that  vonderful  much! 
And  I  like  her.  When  we  go  over  to  her  house  she's 
so  nice  and  talks  to  me  kind  and  the  last  time  I  was 
there  she  kissed  me  and  said  what  pretty  hair  I  got. 
Yes,  I  want  David's  mom  for  mine.  I  guess  he  won't 
care.  He  always  gives  me  apples  and  chestnuts  and 
things  and  he  shows  me  birds'  nests  and  I  think  he'll 
leave  me  have  his  mom,  so  long  as  he  can  have  her  too. 
I'll  ask  him  once  when  I  see  him.  I  wonder  who's 
goin'  on  the  road  to  Greenwald." 

She  gathered  up  her  long  skirt  and  stepped  grandly 
across  the  bare  floor  of  the  attic.  As  she  stood  by  the 
window  a  boyish  whistle  floated  up  to  her.  She 
leaned  over  the  narrow  sill  and  peered  through  the 
evergreen  trees  at  the  road. 

"  That's  David  now,  I  bet !  Sounds  like  his  whistle. 
Oo-oo,  David,"  she  called  as  the  boy  came  swinging 
down  the  road. 

"  Hello,  Phoebe.     Where  you  at?  " 

He  turned  in  at  the  gate  and  looked  around. 

"  Whew,"  he  whistled  as  he  glanced  up  and  saw  her 
at  the  little  window  of  the  attic.  "  What  you  doing 
up  there  ?  " 

"  Flavin'  primer  donner.  I  just  look  something 
grand.  Wait,  I'll  come  down." 

"  Sure,  come  on  down  and  let  me  see  you.  I'm 
going  to  hang  around  a  while.  Mom's  here  quilting, 
ain't  she?" 

"  Sh ! "  Phcebe  raised  a  warning  finger,  then  placed 
her  hands  to  her  mouth  to  shut  the  sound  of  her  voice 


THE  PRIMA  DONNA  OF  THE  ATTIC    99 

from  the  people  in  the  gray  house.  "  You  sneak 
round  to  the  kitchen  door,  to  the  back  one,  so  they 
can't  hear  you,  and  I'll  come  down.  Aunt  Maria 
mightn't  like  my  hair  and  dress,  and  I  don't  want  to 
make  her  cross  on  my  birthday.  Be  careful,  don't 
make  no  noise." 

"  Ha,"  laughed  the  boy.  "  Bet  you're  sneaking 
tilings,  you  little  rascal." 

Phoebe  lifted  her  finger,  shook  her  head,  then  smiled 
and  turned  from  the  window.  She  tiptoed  down  the 
dark  attic  stairs,  then  down  the  narrow  back  stairs  to 
the  kitchen  and  slipped  quietly  to  the  little  porch  at  the 
very  rear  of  the  house. 

"  Gee  whiz !  "  exclaimed  David.  "  You're  a  swell 
in  that  dress !  " 

"  Ain't  I — I  mean  am  I — ach,  David,  it's  hard  some- 
times to  talk  like  Miss  Lee  says  we  should." 

"  Where'd  you  get  the  dress,  Phoebe  ?  " 

"  Up  in  the  garret.  Aunt  Maria  said  I  dare  go  up 
and  play  'cause  it's  my  birthday." 

"  Hold  on,  that's  just  what  I  came  for,  to  pull  your 
ears." 

"  No  you  don't,"  she  said  crossly.  "  No  you  don't, 
David  Eby,  pull  my  ears."  She  clapped  a  hand  upon 
each  ear. 

"  Then  I'll  pull  a  curl,"  he  said  and  suited  the  action 
to  the  word.  He  took  one  of  the  long  light  curls  and 
pulled  it  gently,  yet  with  a  brusque  show  of  savagery 
and  strength — "  One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven, 
eight,  nine,  ten,  eleven,  and  one  to  make  you  grow. 
Now  who  says  I  can't  celebrate  your  birthday ! " 


ioo  PATCHWORK 

"  You're  mean,  awful  mean,  David  Eby !  "  She 
tossed  her  head  in  anger.  But  a  moment  later  she  re- 
lented as  she  saw  him  smile.  "  Ach,"  she  said  in 
friendly  tone,  "  I  don't  care  if  you  pull  my  curls.  It 
didn't  hurt  anyhow.  You  can't  do  it  again  for  a 
whole  year.  But  don't  you  think  I  look  like  a  primer 
donner,  David?  " 

"  Oh,  say  it  right !  How  can  you  expect  to  ever 
be  what  you  can't  pronounce?  It's  pri-ma-don-na." 

"  Pri-ma-don-na,"  she  repeated,  shaking  her  curls 
at  every  syllable.  "  Do  I  look  like  a  prima  donna?  " 

"  Yes,  all  but  your  face." 

"  My  face — why  " — she  faltered — "  what's  wrong 
with  my  face?  Ain't  it  pretty  enough  to  be  a  prima 
donna  ?  " 

"  Funny  kid,"  he  laughed.  "  Your  face  is  good 
enough  for  a  prima  donna,  but  to  be  a  real  prima 
donna  you  must  fix  it  up  with  cold  cream,  paint  and 
powder." 

"  Powder !  "  she  echoed  in  amazement.  "  Not  the 
kind  you  put  in  guns  ?  " 

"  Gee,  no !  It's  white  stuff — looks  like  flour ;  mebbe 
it  is  flour  fixed  up  with  perfume.  Mary  Warner  had 
some  at  school  last  week  and  showed  some  of  the  girls 
at  recess  how  to  put  it  on.  I  was  behind  a  tree  and 
saw  them  but  they  didn't  see  me." 

"  I  thought  some  of  the  girls  looked  pale — so  that 
was  what  made  them  look  so  white !  But  how  do  you 
know  all  about  fixing  up  to  be  a  prima  donna  ?  Where 
did  you  learn?  "  She  looked  at  him  admiringly,  justly 
appreciating  his  superior  knowledge. 


THE  PRIMA  DONNA  OF  THE  ATTIC    101 

"  Oh,  when  I  had  the  mumps  last  winter  I  used  to 
read  the  papers  every  day,  clean  through.  There  was 
a  column  called  the  '  Hints  to  Beauty '  column,  and 
sometimes  I  read  it  just  for  fun,  it  was  so  funny.  It 
told  about  fixing  up  the  face  and  mentioned  a  famous 
singer  and  some  other  people  who  always  looked  beau- 
tiful because  they  knew  how  to  fix  their  faces  to  keep 
looking  young.  But  I  wouldn't  like  to  see  any  one 
I  like  fix  their  faces  like  it  said,  for  all  that 
stuff " 

"  But  do  you  think  all  prima  donnas  put  such  things 
on  their  faces?  "  she  interrupted  him. 

"  Guess  so." 

"What  was  it,  Davie?" 

"  Cold  cream,  paint,  powder — here,  where  are  you 
going?  "  he  asked  as  she  started  for  the  door. 

"  I'll  be  out  in  a  minute ;  you  wait  here  for  me." 

"  Cold  cream,  paint,  powder,"  she  repeated  as  she 
closed  the  door  and  left  David  outside.  "  Cream's  all 
in  the  cellar."  She  took  a  pewter  tablespoon  from  a 
drawer,  opened  a  latched  door  in  the  kitchen  and  went 
noiselessly  down  the  steps  to  the  cellar.  There  she 
lifted  the  lid  from  a  large  earthen  jar,  dipped  a  spoon- 
ful of  thick  cream  from  the  jar,  and  began  to  rub  it  on 
her  cheeks. 

"  That's  cold  cream,  anyhow,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  It  certainly  is  cold.  Ach,  I  don't  like  the  feel  of  it 
on  my  face ;  it's  too  sticky  and  wet."  But  she  rubbed 
valiantly  until  the  spoonful  was  used  and  her  face 
glowed. 

"  Now  paint,  red  paint — I  don't  dare  use  the  kind 


102  PATCHWORK 

you  put  on  houses,  for  that's  too  hard  to  get  off ;  let's 
see — I  guess  red-beet  juice  will  do." 

She  stooped  to  the  cool,  earthen  floor,  lifted  the 
cover  from  a  crock  of  pickled  beets,  dipped  the  spoon 
into  the  juice  and  began  to  rub  the  colored  liquid  upon 
her  glowing  cheeks. 

"  If  I  only  had  a  looking-glass,  then  I  could  see  just 
where  to  put  it  on.  But  I  don't  dare  to  carry  the  juice 
up  the  steps,  for  if  I  spilled  some  just  after  Aunt 
Maria  has  them  scrubbed  for  Sunday  she'd  be  cross." 

She  applied  the  red  juice  by  guesswork,  with  the 
inevitable  result  that  her  ears,  chin,  and  nose  were 
stained  as  deeply  as  her  cheeks. 

"  Now  the  powder,  then  I'm  through." 

She  tiptoed  up  to  the  kitchen  again,  took  a  handful 
of  flour  from  the  bin  and  rubbed  it  upon  her  face. 

"  Ugh,  um,"  she  sputtered,  as  some  of  the  flour  flew 
into  her  eyes  and  nostrils.  "  I  guess  that  was  too 
thick !  "  Then  she  knelt  on  a  chair  and  looked  into  the 
small  mirror  that  hung  in  the  kitchen.  She  exclaimed 
in  horror  and  disappointment  at  the  vision  that  met 
her  gaze. 

"Why,  I  don't  like  that!  I  look  awful!  I'll  rub 
off  some  of  the  flour.  I  have  blotches  all  over  my 
face.  Do  all  prima  donnas  look  this  way,  I  wonder. 
But  David  knows,  I  guess.  I'll  ask  him  if  I  did  it 
right." 

She  grabbed  one  end  of  the  kitchen  towel  and  dis- 
posed of  some  of  the  superfluous  flour,  then,  still 
doubtful  of  her  appearance,  opened  the  door  to  the 
porch  where  the  boy  waited  for  her. 


THE  PRIMA  DONNA  OF  THE  ATTIC    103 

"  Do  I  look "  she  began,  but  David  burst  into 

hilarious  laughter. 

"  Oh,  oh,"  he  held  his  sides  and  laughed.  "  Oh, 
your  face " 

"  Don't  you  laugh  at  me,  David  Eby !  Don't  you 
dare  laugh !  " 

She  was  deeply  hurt  at  his  unseemly  behavior,  but 
the  deluge  was  only  beginning !  The  sound  of  David's 
laughter  and  Phoebe's  raised  voice  reached  the  front 
room  where  the  quilting  party  was  in  progress. 

"  Sounds  like  somebody  on  the  back  porch,"  said 
Aunt  Maria.  "  Guess  I  better  go  and  see.  With  so 
many  tramps  around  always  abody  can't  be  too  care- 
ful." 

The  sight  that  met  Maria  Metz's  eyes  as  she  opened 
the  back  door  left  her  speechless.  Phcebe  turned  and 
the  two  looked  at  each  other  in  silence  for  a  few  long 
moments. 

"  Don't  scold  her,"  David  said,  sobered  by  the  sud- 
den appearance  of  the  woman  and  frightened  for 
Phoebe — Aunt  Maria  could  be  stern,  he  knew.  "  Don't 
scold  her.  I  told  her  to  do  it." 

"  You  did  not,  David ;  don't  you  tell  lies  for  me ! 
You  just  told  me  how  to  do  it  and  I  went  and  done  it 
myself.  I'm  playing  prima  donna,  Aunt  Maria,"  she 
explained,  though  she  knew  it  was  a  futile  attempt  at 
justification.  "  I'm  playing  I'm  a  big  singer,  so  I  had 
to  fix  up  in  this  dress  and  put  my  hair  down  this  way 
and  fix  my  face." 

"  Great  singer — march  in  here !  "  The  woman  had 
fully  regained  her  voice.  "  It's  a  bad  girl  you  are ! 


104  PATCHWORK 

To  think  of  your  making  such  a  monkey  of  yourself 
when  I  leave  you  go  up  in  the  garret  to  play!  This 
ends  playing  in  the  garret.  Next  Saturday  you  sew ! 
Ach,  yes,  you  just  come  in,"  she  commanded,  for 
Phoebe  hung  back  as  they  entered  the  house.  "  You 
come  right  in  here  and  let  all  the  women  see  how  nice 
you  play  when  I  leave  you  go  up  in  the  garret  instead 
of  make  you  sew.  This  here's  the  tramp  I  found," 
she  announced  as  she  led  her  into  the  room  where  the 
women  sat  around  the  quilting  frame  and  quilted. 

"  What!  "  several  of  them  exclaimed  as  they  turned 
from  their  sewing  and  looked  at  the  child.  Granny 
Hogendobler  and  David  Eby's  mother,  however, 
smiled. 

"  What's  on  your  face  ?  "  asked  one  woman  sternly. 

Phoebe  hung  her  head,  abashed. 

"  That's  how  nice  ?he  plays  when  I  leave  her  go  up 
on  the  garret  and  have  a  nice  time  instead  of  making 
her  sew  like  she  always  has  to  Saturdays,"  Aunt  Maria 
said  in  sharp  tones  which  told  the  child  all  too  plainly 
of  the  displeasure  she  had  caused. 

"  I  didn't  mean,"  Phoebe  looked  up  contritely,  "  I 
didn't  mean  to  be  bad  and  make  you  cross.  I  was  just 
playing  I  was  a  big  singer  and  I  put  cold  cream  and 
paint  and  powder  on  my  face " 

"Cream!" 

"Paint!" 

"Powder!" 

The  shrill  staccato  words  of  the  women  set  the  child 
trembling. 

"  But— but,"  she  faltered,  "  it'll  all  wash  off."     She 


PHOEBE  HUNG  HER  HEAD  ABASHED 


THE  PRIMA  DONNA  OF  THE  ATTIC    105 

gave  a  convincing  nod  of  her  head  and  rubbed  a  hand 
ruefully  across  the  grotesquely  decorated  cheek.  "  It's 
just  cream  and  red-beet  juice  and  flour." 

"  Did  I  ever ! "  exclaimed  the  mother  of  Phares 
Eby. 

"  I-to-goodness !  "  laughed  Granny  Hogendobler. 

"  Vanity,  vanity,  all  is  vanity,"  quoted  one  of  the 
other  women. 

"  Come  here,  Phoebe,"  said  the  mother  of  David 
Eby,  and  that  woman,  a  thin,  alert  little  person  with 
tender,  kindly  eyes,  drew  the  unhappy  little  girl  to  her. 
"  You  poor,  precious  child,"  she  said,  "  it's  a  shame 
for  us  all  to  sit  here  and  look  at  you  as  if  we  wanted 
to  eat  you.  You've  just  been  playing,  haven't  you  ?  " 
She  turned  to  the  other  women.  "  Why,  Maria, 
Susan,  I  remember  just  as  well  as  if  it  were  only  yes- 
terday how  we  used  to  rub  our  cheeks  with  rough 
mullein  leaves  to  make  them  red  for  Love  Feast,  don't 
you  remember  ?  " 

Aunt  Maria's  cheeks  grew  pink.  "  Ach,  Barbara, 
mebbe  we  did  that  when  we  were  young  and  foolish, 
but  we  didn't  act  like  this." 

"  Not  much  different,  I  guess,"  said  Phoebe's  cham- 
pion with  a  smile.  "  Only  we  forget  it  now.  Phcebe 
is  just  like  we  were  once  and  she'll  get  over  it  like  we 
did.  Let  her  play;  she'll  soon  be  too  old  to  want  to 
play  or  to  know  how.  She  ain't  a  bad  child,  just  full 
of  life  and  likes  to  do  things  other  people  don't  think 
of  doing." 

"  She  surely  does,"  said  Aunt  Maria  curtly,  ill 
pleased  by  the  woman's  words.  "  Where  that  child 


106  PATCHWORK 

gets  all  her  notions  from  I'd  like  to  know.  It's  some- 
thing new  every  day." 

"  She'll  be  all  right  when  she  gets  older,"  said 
David's  mother. 

"Be  sure,  yes,"  agreed  Granny  Hogendobler;  "it 
don't  do  to  be  too  strict." 

"  Mebbe  so,"  said  the  other  women,  with  various 
shades  of  understanding  in  their  words. 

Phoebe  looked  gratefully  into  the  face  of  Granny 
Hogendobler,  then  she  turned  to  David's  mother  and 
spoke  to  her  as  though  there  were  no  others  present  in 
the  room. 

"  You  know,  don't  you,  how  little  girls  like  to  play  ? 
You  called  me  precious  child  just  like  she  would " 

"  She  would,"  repeated  Aunt  Maria.  "  What  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  my  mother,"  she  explained  and  turned 
again  to  her  champion.  "  I  was  just  thinking  this 
after  on  the  garret  that  I'd  like  you  for  my  mother, 
to  adopt  you  for  it  like  people  do  with  children  when 
they  have  none  and  want  some.  I  hear  lots  of 
people  call  you  Aunty  Bab — dare  I  call  you  Mother 
Bab?" 

The  woman  laid  a  hand  on  the  child's  tumbled  hair. 
Her  voice  trembled  as  she  answered,  "  Yes,  Phctbe, 
you  can  call  me  Mother  Bab.  I  have  no  little  girl  so 
you  may  fill  that  place.  Now  ask  Aunt  Maria  if  you 
should  wash  your  face  and  get  fixed  right  again." 

"Shall  I,  Aunt  Maria?" 

"  Yes.  Go  get  cleaned  up.  Fold  all  them  clothes 
right  and  put  'em  in  the  trunk  and  put  your  hair  in  two 


THE  PRIMA  DONNA  OF  THE  ATTIC    107 

plaits  again.  If  you're  big  enough  to  do  such  dumb 
things  you're  big  enough  to  comb  your  hair."  And 
Aunt  Maria,  peeved  and  hurt  at  the  child's  behavior, 
went  back  to  her  quilting  while  Phoebe  hurried  from 
the  room  alone. 

The  child  scrubbed  the  three  layers  of  decoration 
from  her  face,  trudged  up  the  stairs  to  the  attic,  took 
off  the  rose-sprigged  gown  and  folded  it  away — a  dis- 
consolate, disillusioned  prima  donna. 

When  the  attic  was  once  more  restored  to  its  order- 
liness she  closed  the  window  and  went  down-stairs  to 
wrestle  with  her  curls.  They  were  tangled,  but  ordi- 
narily she  would  have  been  able  to  braid  them  into 
some  semblance  of  neatness,  but  the  trying  experience 
of  the  past  moments,  the  joy  of  gaining  an  adopted 
mother,  set  her  fingers  bungling. 

"  Ach,  I  can't,  I  just  can't  make  two  braids !  "  she 
said  at  length,  ready  to  burst  into  tears. 

Then  she  remembered  David.  "  Mebbe  he's  on  the 
porch  yet.  I'll  go  see  once." 

With  the  narrow  brown  ribbons  streaming  from  her 
hand  and  a  hair-brush  tucked  under  one  arm  she  ran 
down  the  stairs.  She  found  David,  for  once  a  gloomy 
figure,  on  the  back  porch,  just  where  she  had  left  him. 

"  David,"  she  said  softly,  "  will  you  help  me?  " 

"  Why  " — his  face  brightened  as  he  looked  at  her — 
"  you  ain't " — he  started  to  say  "  crying  " — "  you  ain't 
mad  at  me  for  getting  you  into  trouble  with  Aunt 
Maria?" 

"  Ach,  no.  And  I  ain't  never  going  to  be  mad  at 
you  now  for  I  just  adopted  your  mom  for  my  mom— 


io8  PATCHWORK 

mother.  She's  going  to  be  my  Mother  Bab;  she 
said  so." 

"What?" 

He  knitted  his  forehead  in  a  puzzled  frown.  Phoebe 
explained  how  kind  his  mother  had  been,  how  she  un- 
derstood what  little  girls  like  to  do,  how  she  had  prom- 
ised to  be  Mother  Bab. 

"You  don't  care,  Davie,  you  ain't  jealous?"  she 
ended  anxiously. 

"  Sure  not,"  he  assured  her;  "  I  think  it's  kinda  nice, 
for  she  thinks  you're  a  dandy.  But  did  they  haul  you 
over  the  coals  in  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  little,  all  but  Granny  Hogendobler  and  your 
mom — Mother  Bab,  I  mean.  Isn't  it  funny  to  get  a 
mother  when  you  didn't  have  one  for  so  long?  " 

"  Guess  so." 

"  But,  David,  will  you  help  me  ?  I  can't  fix  my 
hair  and  Aunt  Maria  is  so  mad  at  me  she  said  I  can 
just  fix  it  myself.  The  plaits  won't  come  right  at  all. 
Will  you  help  me,  please  ?  "  She  asserted  her  femi- 
ninity by  adding  new  sweetness  to  her  voice  as  she 
asked  the  uncommon  favor. 

"  Why  " — he  hesitated,  then  looked  about  to  see  if 
any  one  were  near  to  witness  what  he  was  about  to 
do — "  I  don't  know  if  I  can.  I  never  braided  hair, 
but  I  guess  I  can." 

"  Be  sure  you  can,  David.  You  braid  it  just  like  we 
braid  the  daisy  stems  and  the  dandelion  stems  in  the 
fields.  You're  so  handy  with  them,  you  can  do  most 
anything,  I  guess." 

Spurred  by  her  appreciation  of  his  ability  he  took 


THE  PRIMA  DONNA  OF  THE  ATTIC    109 

the  brush  and  began  to  brush  the  tangled  hair  as  she 
sat  on  the  porch  at  his  feet. 

"  Gee,"  he  exclaimed  as  the  hair  sprang  into  curls 
when  the  brush  left  it,  "  your  hair's  just  like  gold !  " 

"  And  it's  curly,"  she  added  proudly. 

"  Sure  is.  Wouldn't  Phares  look  if  he  saw  it !  I 
told  him  your  hair  is  prettier  than  Mary  Warner's  and 
he  said  I  was  silly  to  talk  about  girls'  hair." 

"  I  don't  want  him  to  see  it  this  way,"  she  said, 
"  for  he'd  say  it's  a  sin  to  have  curly,  pretty  hair,  even 
if  God  made  it  grow  that  way !  He's  awful  queer !  I 
wouldn't  want  him  for  my  adopted  brother." 

"  Guess  he'd  keep  you  hopping,"  laughed  David. 

"  Guess  I'd  keep  him  hopping,  too,"  retorted  Phoebe, 
at  which  the  boy  laughed. 

"  Now  what  do  I  do  ?  "  he  asked  when  all  the  hair 
was  untangled. 

"  Part  it  in  the  middle  and  make  two  plaits." 

"  Um-uh." 

The  boy's  clumsy  fingers  fumbled  long  with  the 
parting ;  several  times  the  braids  twisted  and  had  to  be 
undone,  but  after  a  struggle  he  was  able  to  announce, 
"  There  now,  you're  fixed !  Now  you're  Phoebe  Metz, 
no  more  prima  donna !  " 

"  Thanks,  David,  for  helping  me.  I  feel  much  bet- 
ter around  the  head — guess  curls  would  be  a  nuisance 
after  all." 


CHAPTER  VII 

"  WHERE  THE  BROOK  AND  RIVER  MEET  " 

WHEN  Phcebe  adopted  Mother  Bab  she  did  so  with 
the  whole-heartedness  and  finality  characteristic  of  her 
blood. 

Mother  Bab — the  name  never  ceased  to  thrill  the 
erstwhile  motherless  girl  whose  yearning  for  affection 
and  understanding  had  been  unsatisfied  by  the  matter- 
of-fact  Aunt  Maria. 

At  first  Maria  Metz  did  not  seem  too  well  pleased 
with  the  child's  persistent  naming  of  Barbara  Eby  as 
Mother  Bab ;  but  gradually,  as  she  saw  Phoebe's  joy  in 
the  adoption,  the  woman  acknowledged  to  herself  that 
another  woman  was  capable  of  mothering  where  she 
had  failed. 

Phcebe  spent  many  hours  in  the  little  house  on  the 
hill,  learning  from  Mother  Bab  many  things  that  made 
indelible  impressions  upon  her  sensitive  child-heart, 
unraveling  some  of  the  tangled  knots  of  her  soul,  stir- 
ring anew  hopes  and  aspirations  of  her  being.  But 
there  remained  one  knot  to  be  untangled — she  could 
not  understand  why  the  plain  dress  and  white  cap  ex- 
isted, she  could  not  reconcile  the  utter  simplicity  of 
dress  with  the  lavish  beauty  of  the  birds,  flowers — all 
nature. 

"  It  will  come,"  Mother  Bab  assured  her  one  day. 


"WHERE  BROOK  AND  RIVER  MEET"    in 

"  You  are  a  little  girl  now  and  cannot  see  into  every- 
thing. But  when  you  are  older  you  will  see  how 
beautiful  it  is  to  live  simply  and  plainly." 

"  But  is  it  necessary,  Mother  Bab  ?  "  the  child  cried 
out.  "  Must  I  dress  like  you  and  Aunt  Maria  if  I 
want  to  be  good?  " 

"  No,  you  don't  have  to.  Many  people  are  good 
.  without  wearing  the  plain  garb.  A  great  many  people 
in  the  world  never  heard  of  the  plain  sects  we  have  in 
this  section  of  the  country,  and  there  are  good  people 
everywhere,  I'm  sure  of  that.  But  it  is  just  as  true 
that  each  person  must  find  the  best  way  to  lead  a  good 
life.  If  you  can  wear  fine  clothes  and  still  be  good 
and  lead  a  Christian  life,  then  there  is  no  harm  in  the 
pretty  clothes.  But  for  me  the  easiest  way  to  be  living 
right  is  to  live  as  simply  as  I  can.  This  is  the  way 
for  me.'* 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  the  way  for  me,  too,"  confessed 
Phoebe.  "  I'm  vain,  awfully  vain !  I  love  pretty 
clothes  and  I'll  never  be  satisfied  till  I  get  'em — silk 
dresses,  soft,  shiny  satin  ones — ach,  I  guess  I'm  vain 
but  I'll  have  to  wait  to  satisfy  my  vanity  till  I'm  older, 
for  Aunt  Maria  is  so  set  against  fancy  clothes." 

It  was  true,  Maria  Metz  compromised  on  some  mat- 
ters as  Phoebe  grew  older,  but  on  the  question  of 
clothes  the  older  woman  was  adamant.  The  child 
should  have  comfortable  dresses  but  there  would  posi- 
tively be  no  useless  ornaments  or  adornments,  such  as 
wide  sashes,  abundance  of  laces,  elaborately  trimmed 
ruffles.  Fancy  hats,  jewelry  and  unconfined  curls 
were  also  strictly  forbidden. 


ii2  PATCHWORK 

Though  Phoebe,  even  as  she  grew  older,  had  much 
time  to  spend  outdoors,  there  were  many  tasks  about 
the  house  and  farm  she  had  to  perform.  The  chest 
was  soon  filled  with  quilts  and  that  bugbear  was  gone 
from  her  life.  But  there  was  continual  scrubbing, 
baking,  mending,  and  other  household  tasks  to  be  done, 
so  that  much  practice  caused  the  girl  to  develop  into  a 
capable  little  housekeeper.  Aunt  Maria  frankly  ad- 
mitted that  Phoebe  worked  cheerfully  and  well,  a  mat- 
ter she  found  consoling  in  the  trying  hours  when 
Phoebe  "  wasted  time "  by  playing  the  low  walnut 
organ  in  the  sitting-room. 

During  Miss  Lee's  first  term  of  teaching  on  the  hill 
she  taught  her  how  to  play  simple  exercises  and  songs 
and  the  child,  musically  inclined,  made  the  most  of  the 
meagre  knowledge  and  adeptly  improved  until  she  was 
able  to  play  the  hymns  in  the  Gospel  Hymn  Book  and 
the  songs  and  carols  in  the  old  Music  Book  that  had 
belonged  to  her  mother  and  always  rested  on  the  top 
of  the  old  low  organ. 

So  the  organ  became  a  great  solace  and  joy,  an  out- 
let for  the  intense  feelings  of  desire  and  hope  in  her 
heart.  When  her  voice  joined  with  the  sweet  tones  of 
the  old  instrument  it  seemed  to  Phoebe  as  if  she  were 
echoing  the  harmony  of  the  eternal  music  of  all  crea- 
tion. Child  though  she  was,  she  sang  with  the  joy  and 
sincerity  of  the  true  musician.  She  merely  smiled 
when  Aunt  Maria  characterized  her  best  efforts  as 
"  doodling "  and  rejoiced  when  her  father,  Mother 
Bab  or  David  praised  her  singing. 

In  school  she  progressed  rapidly  but  her  interest 


"WHERE  BROOK  AND  RIVER  MEET"    113 

lagged  when,  after  two  years  of  teaching,  Miss  Lee 
resigned  her  position  as  teacher  of  the  school  on  the 
hill  and  a  new  teacher  took  command.  The  entire 
school  missed  the  teacher  from  Philadelphia,  but 
Phoebe  was  almost  inconsolable.  She,  especially,  ap- 
preciated the  gain  of  contact  with  the  teacher  she  loved 
and  she  continued  to  profit  by  the  remembrance  of 
many  things  Miss  Lee  had  taught  her.  The  Memory 
Gems,  alone,  bore  evidence  of  the  change  the  teacher 
from  the  city  had  wrought  in  the  rural  school.  Phoebe 
smiled  as  she  thought  how  the  poems  had  been  sing- 
songed until  Miss  Lee  taught  the  children  to  bring  out 
the  meaning  of  the  words. 

"  Oh,  my,"  she  laughed  one  day  as  she  and  David 
were  speaking  of  school  happenings,  "  do  you  remem- 
ber how  John  Schneider  used  to  say  Memory  Gems? 
The  day  he  got  up  and  said,  '  Have-you-heard-the- 
waters  -  singing  -  little-May  —  where-the-willows- 
green-are-bending-over-the—  way — do-you-know- 
how-low-and-sweet-are-the-words-the-waves-repeat 
— to-the-pebbles-at-their-f eet — night-and-day  ?  '  " 

David  laughed  at  the  girl's  droll  imitation,  the  way 
she  sing-songed  the  verse  in  the  exact  manner  preva- 
lent in  many  rural  schools. 

"  And  do  you  remember,"  he  asked,  "  the  day  Isaac 
Hunchberger  defined  bipeds?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  I'll  never  forget  that !  It  was  the  day 
the  County  Superintendent  of  Schools  came  to  visit 
our  school  and  Miss  Lee  was  anxious  to  have  us  show 
off.  Isaac  showed  off,  all  right,  with  his,  *  Bipets  are 
sings  vis  two  lex! '  I  guess  Miss  Lee  decided  that  day 


ii4  PATCHWORK 

that  the  Pennsylvania  Dutch  is  ingrained  in  our  Eng- 
lish and  hard  to  get  out." 

To  Phoebe  each  Memory  Gem  of  her  school  days  be- 
came, in  truth,  a  gem  stored  away  for  future  years. 
Long  after  she  had  outgrown  the  little  rural  school 
scraps  of  poetry  returned  to  her  to  rewaken  the  en- 
thusiasm of  childhood  and  to  teach  her  again  to  "  hear 
the  lark  within  the  songless  egg  and  find  the  fountain 
where  they  wailed,  '  Mirage! ' 

Phoebe  wanted  so  many  things  in  those  school-day 
years  but  she  wanted  most  of  all  to  become  like  Miss 
Lee.  So  earnestly  did  she  try  to  speak  as  her  teacher 
taught  her  that  after  a  time  the  peculiar  idioms  and 
expressions  became  more  infrequent  and  there  was 
only  a  delightfully  quaint  inflection,  an  occasional 
phrase,  to  betray  her  Pennsylvania  Dutch  parentage. 
But  in  times  of  stress  or  excitement  she  invariably 
slipped  back  into  the  old  way  and  prefaced  her  excla- 
mations with  an  expressive  "  Ach !  " 

Life  on  the  Metz  farm  went  on  in  even  tenor  year 
in  and  year  out.  Maria  Metz  never  changed  to  any 
appreciable  extent  her  mode  of  living  or  her  methods 
of  working,  and  she  tried  to  teach  Phoebe  to  conform 
to  the  same  monotonous  existence  and  live  as  several 
generations  of  Metzes  had  done.  But  Phoebe  was  a 
veritable  Evelyn  Hope,  made  of  "  spirit,  fire  and  dew." 
The  distinctiveness  of  her  personality  grew  more  pro- 
nounced as  she  slipped  from  childhood  into  girlhood 
and  Maria  Metz  needed  often  to  encourage  her  own 
heart  for  the  task  of  rearing  into  ideal  womanhood  the 
daughter  of  her  brother  Jacob. 


"WHERE  BROOK  AND  RIVER  MEET"    115 

Phoebe  had  a  deep  love  for  nature  and  this  love  was 
fostered  by  her  sturdy  farmer-father.  As  she  fol- 
lowed him  about  the  fields  he  taught  her  the  names  of 
wild  flowers,  told  her  the  nesting  haunts  of  birds,  in- 
itiated her  into  the  circle  of  tree-lore,  taught  her  to 
keep  ears,  eyes  and  heart  open  for  the  treasures  of  the 
great  outdoors. 

Phoebe  required  no  urging  in  that  direction.  Her 
heart  was  filled  with  an  insatiable  desire  to  know  more 
and  more  of  the  beautiful  world  about  her.  She 
gathered  knowledge  from  every  country  walk;  she 
showed  so  much  "  uncommon  sense,"  David  Eby  said, 
that  it  was  a  keen  pleasure  to  show  her  the  nests  of 
the  thrush  or  the  rare  nests  of  the  humming-bird. 
David  and  his  mother,  enthusiastic  seekers  after  nature 
knowledge,  augmented  the  father's  nature  education 
of  Phoebe  by  frequent  walks  to  field  and  woods.  And 
so,  when  Phcebe  was  twelve  years  old  she  knew  the 
haunts  of  all  the  wild  flowers  within  walking  distance 
of  her  home.  With  her  father  or  with  David  and 
Mother  Bab  she  found  the  first  marsh-marigolds  in 
the  meadows,  the  first  violets  of  the  wooded  slope  of 
the  hill,  the  earliest  hepatica  with  its  woolly  buds,  the 
first  windflowers  and  spring  beauties.  She  knew  when 
the  time  was  come  for  the  bloodroot  to  lift  its  pure 
white  petals  about  the  golden  hearts  in  the  spot  where 
the  rich  mould  at  the  base  of  some  giant  tree  nurtured 
the  blooded  plants.  She  could  find  the  canopied  Jack- 
in-the-pulpit  and  the  pink  azalea  on  the  hill  near  her 
home.  She  knew  the  exact  spot,  a  mile  from  the  gray 
farmhouse,  where,  in  a  lovely  little  wood  by  a  quiet 


n6  PATCHWORK 

road,  a  profusion  of  bird-foot  violets  and  bluets  made 
a  carpet  of  blue  loveliness  each  spring — so  on,  through 
the  fleet  days  of  summer,  till  the  last  asters  and  golden- 
rod  faded,  the  child  reveled  in  the  beauties  and  wonders 
of  the  world  at  her  feet  and  loved  every  part  of  it, 
from  the  tiny  blue  speedwell  in  the  grass  to  the  gor- 
geous orioles  in  the  trees.  What  if  Aunt  Maria  some- 
times scolded  her  for  bringing  so  many  "  weeds  "  into 
the  house!  With  apparent  unconcern  she  placed  her 
flowers  in  a  glass  or  earthen  jar  and  secretly  thought, 
"  Well,  I'm  glad  I  like  these  pretty  things ;  they  are 
not  weeds  to  me." 

The  buoyancy  of  childhood  tarried  with  her  into 
girlhood.  Like  the  old  inscription  of  the  sun-dial,  she 
seemed  to  "  count  none  but  sunny  hours."  But  those 
who  knew  her  best  saw  that  the  shadows  of  life  also 
left  their  marks  upon  her.  At  times  the  gaiety  was 
displaced  by  seriousness.  Mother  Bab  knew  of  the 
struggles  in  the  girl's  heart.  Granny  Hogendobler 
could  have  told  of  the  hours  Phoebe  spent  with  her 
consoling  her  for  the  absence  of  Nason,  mitigating 
the  cruel  stabs  of  the  thoughtless  people  who  con- 
demned him,  comforting  with  the  assurance  that  he 
would  return  to  his  home  some  day.  Old  Aaron  loved 
the  girl  and  found  her  always  ready  to  listen  to  his 
hackneyed  story  of  the  battle  of  Gettysburg. 

Phoebe  was  a  student  in  the  Greenwald  High  School 
when  the  war  clouds  broke  over  Europe  and  the  world 
seemed  to  go  mad  in  a  whirl.  She  hurried  to  Old 
Aaron  for  his  opinion  on  the  terrible  war. 

"  Isn't  it  awful,"  she  said  to  him,  "  that  so  many 


"WHERE  BROOK  AND  RIVER  MEET'     117 

nations  are  flying  at  each  other's  throats?  And  in 
these  days  of  our  boasted  civilization!  " 

"Awful,"  he  agreed.  "  But,  mark  my  words,  this 
is  just  the  beginning.  Before  the  thing's  settled  we'll 
be  in  it  too." 

She  shrank  from  the  words.  "  Oh,  no,  not  America ! 
That  would  be  too  terrible.  David  might  go  then,  and 
a  lot  of  Greenwald  boys — oh,  that  would  be  awful !  " 

"  Yes!  But  it  would  be  far  more  dreadful  to  have 
them  sit  back  safe  while  others  died  for  the  freedom 
of  the  world.  I'd  rather  have  my  boy  a  soldier  at  a 
time  like  this  than  have  him  be  ruler  of  a  country." 

The  old  man's  words  ended  quaveringly.  The  pent- 
up  agony  of  his  disappointment  in  his  son  surged  over 
him,  and  he  bowed  his  head  in  his  hands  and  wept. 

Phoebe  sent  Granny  to  comfort  him,  and  then  stole 
away.  The  veteran's  grief  left  an  impression  upon 
her.  Were  his  words  prophetic  ?  Would  America  be 
drawn  into  the  struggle  ?  It  was  preposterous  to 
dream  of  that.  She  would  forget  the  words  of  Old 
Aaron,  for  she  had  important  matters  of  her  own  to 
think  about.  In  a  few  years  she  would  be  graduated 
from  High  School  and  then  she  would  have  her  own 
life-work  to  decide  upon.  Her  desire  for  larger  ex- 
perience, her  determination  to  do  something  of  im- 
portance after  graduation  was  her  chief  interest.  The 
war  across  the  sea  was  too  remote  to  bring  constant 
fear  to  her.  Dutifully  she  went  about  her  work  on 
the  farm  and  pursued  her  studies.  She  was  not  with- 
out pity  for  the  brave  people  of  Servia  and  Belgium, 
not  without  praise  for  the  heroic  French  and  English. 


ii8'  PATCHWORK 

She  added  her  vehement  words  of  horror  as  she  read 
of  the  atrocities  visited  upon  the  helpless  peoples.  She 
shared  in  the  dread  of  many  Americans  that  the  octo- 
pus-arm of  war  might  reach  this  country,  and  yet  she 
was  more  concerned  about  her  own  future  than  about 
the  future  of  battle-racked  France  or  devastated  Bel- 
gium. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BEYOND  THE  ALPS  LIES  ITALY 

PHCEBE'S  graduation  from  the  Greenwald  High 
School  was  her  red-letter  day.  Several  times  during 
the  morning  she  stole  to  the  spare-room  where  her 
graduation  dress  lay  spread  upon  the  high  bed.  Ac- 
companied by  Aunt  Maria  she  had  made  a  special  trip 
to  Lancaster  for  the  frock,  though  Aunt  Maria  had 
conscientiously  bought  a  few  yards  of  muslin  and 
apron  gingham. 

The  material  was  soft  silky  batiste  of  the  quality 
Phoebe  liked.  The  style,  also,  was  of  her  choosing. 
She  felt  a  glow  of  satisfaction  as  she  looked  at  the 
dress  so  simply,  yet  fashionably,  made. 

"  For  once  in  my  life  I  have  a  dress  I  like,"  she 
thought. 

After  supper,  just  as  she  was  ready  to  dress  for  the 
great  event,  Phares  Eby  came  to  the  gray  farmhouse. 

The  years  had  changed  the  solemn,  serious  boy  into 
a  more  solemn,  serious  man.  Tall  and  broad-shoul- 
dered, he  was  every  inch  a  man  in  appearance.  He 
was,  moreover,  a  man  highly  respected  in  the  com- 
munity, a  successful  farmer  and  also  a  preacher  'in  the 
Church  of  the  Brethren.  The  latter  honor  had  been 
conferred  upon  him  a  year  before  Phcebe's  graduation 


120  PATCHWORK 

and  had  seemed  to  increase  his  gravity  and  endow  him 
with  true  bishopric  dignity.  He  dressed  after  the 
manner  of  the  majority  of  men  who  are  affiliated  with 
the  Church  of  the  Brethren  in  that  district.  His  chin 
was  covered  with  a  thick,  black  beard,  his  dark  hair 
was  parted  in  the  middle  and  combed  behind  his  ears. 
He  looked  ten  years  older  than  he  was  and  gave  an 
impression  of  reserved  strength,  indomitable  will  and 
rigidity  of  purpose  in  furthering  what  he  deemed  a 
good  cause. 

Phoebe  felt  a  slight  intimidation  in  his  presence  as 
she  noted  how  serious  he  had  grown,  how  mature  he 
seemed.  He  appeared  to  desire  the  same  friendship 
with  her  and  tried  to  be  comradely  as  of  old,  but  there 
remained  a  feeling  of  restraint  between  them. 

"  Hello,  Phares,"  she  greeted  him  as  cordially  as 
possible  on  her  Commencement  night. 

"  Good-evening,"  he  returned.  "Are  you  ready  for 
the  great  event  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  I  don't  have  heart  failure  before  I  get  in 
to  town.  If  only  I  had  been  fourth  or  fifth  in  the 
class  marks  instead  of  second,  then  I  might  have 
escaped  to-night  with  just  a  solo.  As  it  is,  I  must 
deliver  the  Salutatory  oration." 

"  Phoebe,  you  want  to  get  off  too  easily !  But  I 
cannot  stay  more  than  a  minute,  for  I  know  you'll 
want  to  get  ready.  I  just  stopped  to  give  you  a  little 
gift  for  your  graduation,  a  copy  of  Longfellow's 
poems." 

"  Oh,  thanks,  Phares.     I  like  his  poems." 

"  I  thought  you  did.     But  I  must  go  now,"  he  said 


BEYOND  THE  ALPS  LIES  ITALY      121 

stiffly.  "  I'll  see  you  to-night  at  Commencement.  I 
hope  you'll  get  through  the  oration  all  right." 

"  Thanks.     I  hope  so." 

When  he  was  gone  she  made  a  wry  face.  "  Whew," 
she  whistled.  "  I'm  sure  Phares  is  a  fine  young  man 
but  he's  too  solemncoly.  He  gives  me  the  woolies! 
If  he's  like  that  all  the  time  I'm  glad  I  don't  have  to 
live  in  the  same  house.  Wonder  if  he  really  knows 
how  to  be  jolly.  But,  shame  on  you,  Phcebe  Metz, 
talking  so  about  your  old  friend!  Perhaps  for  that 
I'll  forget  my  oration  to-night."  With  a  gay  laugh 
she  ran  away  to  dress  for  the  most  important  occasion 
of  her  life. 

The  white  dress  was  vastly  becoming.  Its  soft 
folds  fell  gracefully  about  her  slender  young  figure. 
Her  hair  was  brushed  back,  gathered  into  a  bow  at  the 
top  of  her  head,  and  braided  into  one  thick  braid 
which  ended  in  a  curl.  There  were  no  loving  fingers 
of  mother  or  sister  to  arrange  the  folds  of  her  gown, 
no  fond  eyes  to  appraise  her  with  looks  of  approval, 
but  if  she  felt  the  omission  she  gave  no  evidence  of  it. 
She  seemed  especially  gay  as  she  dressed  alone  in  her 
room.  When  she  had  finished  she  surveyed  herself 
in  the  glass. 

"  Um,  Phcebe  Metz,  you  don't  look  half  bad !  Now 
go  and  do  as  well  as  you  look.  If  Aunt  Maria  heard 
me  she'd  be  shocked,  but  what's  the  use  pretending  to 
be  so  stupid  or  innocent  as  not  to  appreciate  your  own 
good  points.  Any  person  with  good  sight  and  or- 
dinary sense  can  tell  whether  their  appearance  is  pleas- 
ing or  otherwise.  I  like  this  dress " 


122  PATCHWORK 

"  Phoebe,"  Aunt  Maria's  voice  came  up  the  stairs. 

"Yes?" 

"Why,  David's  down.     Are  you  done  dressing?" 

"  I'll  be  down  in  a  minute." 

David  Eby,  too,  was  a  man  grown,  but  a  man  so  dif- 
ferent !  Like  his  cousin,  Phares,  he  was  tall.  He  had 
the  same  dark  hair  and  eyes  but  his  eyes  were  glowing, 
and  his  hair  was  cut  close  and  his  chin  kept  smooth- 
shaven. 

Between  him  and  Phoebe  there  existed  the  old  com- 
radeship, free  of  restraint  or  embarrassment.  He  ran 
to  meet  her  as  her  steps  sounded  on  the  stairs. 

But  she  came  down  sedately,  her  hand  sliding  along 
the  colonial  hand-rail,  a  calm  dignity  about  her,  her 
lovely  head  erect. 

"  Good-evening,"  she  said  in  quiet  tones. 

"  Whew !  "  he  whistled.  "  Sweet  girl  graduate  is 
too  mild  a  phrase !  Come,  unbend,  Phoebe.  You  don't 
expect  me  to  call  you  Miss  Metz  or  to  kiss  your  hand — 
ah,  shall  I?" 

"  Davie  " — in  a  twinkling  the  assumed  dignity  de- 
serted her,  she  was  all  girl  again,  animated  and  ador- 
able—" Davie,  you're  hopeless !  Here  I  pose  before 
the  mirror  to  find  the  most  impressive  way  to  hold  my 
head  and  be  sufficiently  dignified  for  the  occasion,  and 
you  come,  bursting  into  the  hall  like  a  tomboy,  whis- 
tling and  saying  funny  things." 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry.  But  you  took  my  breath  away. 
I  haven't  gotten  it  back  yef  " — he  breathed  deeply. 

"  David,  will  you  ever  grow  up?  " 

"  I'll  have  to  now.     I  see  you've  gone  and  done  it." 


BEYOND  THE  ALPS  LIES  ITALY      123 

"Ach  no,"  she  lapsed  into  the  childhood  expression. 
"  I'm  not  grown  up.  But  how  do  I  look  ?  You  won't 
tell  me  so  I  have  to  ask  you." 

"  You  look  like  a  Madonna,"  he  said  seriously. 

"  Oh,"  she  said  impatiently,  "  that  sounded  like 
Phares." 

"Gracious,  then  I'll  change  it!  You  look  like  an 
angel  and  good  enough  to  eat.  But  honestly,  Phoebe, 
that  dress  is  dandy !  You  look  mighty  nice." 

"  Glad  you  think  so.  Shall  I  tell  you  a  secret, 
David?  I'm  scared  pink  about  to-night." 

"  You  scared  ?  "     He  whistled  again. 

"  Don't  be  so  smart,"  she  said  with  a  frown.  "  Were 
you  scared  on  your  Commencement  night  ?  " 

"  Um-uh.  At  first  I  was.  But  you'll  get  over  it 
in  a  few  minutes.  The  lights  and  the  glory  of  the 
occasion  dim  the  scary  feeling  when  you  sit  up  there 
in  the  seats  of  honor.  You  should  be  glad  your 
oration  is  first." 

"  I  am.  Mary  Warner  is  welcome  to  her  Vale- 
dictory and  the  long  wait  to  deliver  it." 

Phoebe  stiffened  a  bit  at  the  thought  of  the  other 
girl.  Since  the  days  when  the  two  girls  attended  the 
rural  school  on  the  hill  and  Mary  Warner  was  the 
possessor  of  curls  while  Phoebe  wore  the  despised 
braids  the  other  girl  seemed  to  have  everything  for 
which  Phoebe  longed. 

"Ah,  don't  you  care  about  the  honor,"  said  David. 
"  Honors  don't  always  tell  who  knows  the  most. 
Why,  look  at  me;  I  was  fifth  in  my  class  and  I  know 
as  much  any  day  as  the  little  runt  who  was  first." 


124  PATCHWORK 

"  Conceit!  "  laughed  Phoebe.  "  But  I  guess  you  do 
know  more  than  he  does.  Bet  he  never  saw  an  orioles' 
nest  or  found  a  wild  pink  moccasin.  You're  a  wonder 
at  such  things,  David." 

"  Um,"  came  the  sober  answer,  but  there  was  a 
merry  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  "  I'm  a  wonder  all  right! 
Too  bad  only  you  and  Mother  Bab  know  it.  But  if  I 
don't  soon  go  you  won't  get  to  town  in  time  to  get 
the  pink  roses  arranged  just  so  for  the  grand  march. 
The  girls  in  our  class  primped  about  twenty  minutes, 
patting  their  hair  and  fixing  their  ribbons  and  fussing 
with  their  flowers." 

"  David,  you're  horrid !  " 

"  I  know.  But  I  brought  you  something  more  to 
primp  with."  He  handed  her  a  small  flat  box. 

"Forme?" 

"  From  Mother  Bab,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  David,  that's  a  beauty !  "  she  cried  as  she  held 
up  a  scarf  of  pale  blue  crepe  de  chine.  "  I'll  wear  it 
to-night.  Tell  Mother  Bab  I  thank  her  over  and  over. 
But  Til  see  her  to-night  and  tell  her  myself;  she'll  be 
in  at  Commencement." 

"  She  can't  come,  Phoebe.  She's  sorry,  but  she  has 
one  of  her  dreadful  headaches  and  you  know  what  that 
means,  how  sick  she  really  is." 

"  Oh,  Davie,  Mother  Bab  not  coming  to  my  Com- 
mencement— why,  I'm  so  disappointed,  I  want  her 
there  " — the  tears  were  near  the  surface. 

"  She's  sorry,  too,  Phoebe,  but  she's  too  sick  when 
those  headaches  get  her.  Her  eyes  are  the  cause  of 
them,  we  think  now." 


BEYOND  THE  ALPS  LIES  ITALY      125 

"And  I'm  horribly  selfish  to  think  of  myself  and 
my  disappointment  when  she  is  suffering.  You  tell 
her  I'll  be  up  to  see  her  in  the  morning  and  tell  her 
all  about  to-night.  You  are  coming?  " 

"  Sure  thing!  Aunt  Mary  is  coming  over  to  stay 
with  mother,  but  there  is  really  nothing  to  do  for  her ; 
the  pain  seems  to  have  to  run  its  course.  She'll  go  to 
bed  early  and  be  perfectly  all  right  when  she  wakes  in 
the  morning.  Come  on,  now,  cheer  up,  and  get  ready 
for  that '  Over  the  Alps  lies  Italy.'  " 

"  It's  '  Beyond  the  Alps  lies  Italy,' "  she  corrected 
him.  Her  disappointment  was  softened  by  his  cheer- 
fulness. 

"Ach,  it's  all  the  same,"  he  insisted,  and  went  off 
smiling. 

To  Phoebe  that  night  seemed  like  a  dream — the  slow 
march  down  the  aisle  of  the  crowded  auditorium  to 
the  elevated  platform  where  the  nine  graduates  sat  in 
a  semicircle;  the  sea  of  faces  swathed  in  the  bright 
glow  of  many  lights ;  the  perfume  of  the  pink  roses  in 
her  arm;  the  music  of  the  High  School  chorus,  and 
then  the  time  when  she  rose  and  stood  before  the  people 
to  deliver  her  oration,  "  Beyond  the  Alps  lies  Italy." 

She  began  rather  shakily;  the  sea  of  faces  seemed 
so  very  formidable,  so  many  eyes  looked  at  her — how 
could  she  ever  finish !  She  spoke  mechanically  at  first, 
but  gradually  the  magic  of  the  Italy  of  her  dreams  stole 
upon  her,  a  singular  softness  crept  into  her  voice,  a 
mellowness  like  music,  as  she  depicted  the  blue  skies 
of  the  sunny  land-of-dreams-come-true. 

When  she  returned  to  her  place  in  the  semicircle  a 


126  PATCHWORK 

glow  of  satisfaction  possessed  her.  She  felt  she  had 
not  failed,  that  she  had,  in  truth,  done  very  well.  But 
later,  when  Mary  Warner  rose  to  deliver  the  Vale- 
dictory, Phoebe  felt  her  own  efforts  shrink  into  little- 
ness. The  dark-eyed  beautiful  Mary  was  a  sad  thorn 
in  the  flesh  for  the  fair  girl  who  knew  she  was  always 
overshadowed  by  the  brilliant,  queenly  brunette.  In- 
voluntarily the  country  girl  looked  at  David  Eby — he 
was  listening  intently  to  Mary;  his  eyes  never  seemed 
to  leave  her  face.  Little,  sharp  pangs  of  jealousy 
thrust  themselves  into  the  depths  of  Phoebe's  heart. 
Was  it  true,  then,  that  David  cared  for  Mary  Warner  ? 
Town  gossips  said  he  frequented  her  house.  Phoebe 
had  met  them  together  on  the  Square  recently — not 
that  she  cared,  of  course!  She  sat  erect  and  held  her 
pink  roses  more  tightly  against  her  heart.  It  mattered 
little  to  her  if  David  liked  other  girls;  it  was  only  that 
she  felt  a  sense  of  proprietorship  over  the  boy  whose 
mother  was  her  Mother  Bab — thus  she  tried  to  console 
herself  and  quiet  the  demons  of  jealousy  until  the 
program  was  completed,  congratulations  received,  and 
she  stood  with  her  aunt  and  father,  ready  for  the  trip 
back  to  the  gray  farmhouse. 

Teachers  and  friends  had  congratulated  her,  but  it 
was  David  Eby's  hearty,  "  You  did  all  right,  Phoebe," 
that  gave  her  the  keenest  joy. 

"  Did  you  walk  in  ?  "  she  asked  him  as  she  gathered 
her  roses,  diploma  and  scarf,  preparatory  to  departure. 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  you  can  drive  out  with  us,"  her  father 
offered. 


BEYOND  THE  ALPS  LIES  ITALY      127 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  she  seconded  the  suggestion.  "  We 
have  room  in  the  carriage." 

So  it  happened  that  Phoebe,  the  blue  scarf  about  her 
shoulders,  sat  beside  David  as  they  drove  over  the 
country  road,  home  from  her  graduation.  The  vehicle 
rattled  somewhat,  but  the  young  folks  on  the  rear 
seat  could  speak  and  hear  above  the  clatter. 

"  I'm  glad  it's  over,"  Phoebe  sighed  in  relief.  "  But 
what  next  ?  " 

"  Mary  Warner  is  going  to  enter  some  prep  school 
this  fall  and  prepare  for  Vassar,"  David  informed  the 
girl  beside  him. 

"  Lucky  Mary  " — Mary  Warner — she  was  sick  of 
the  name !  "  I  wish  I  knew  what  I  want  to  do." 

"  Want  to  go  away  to  school  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Aunt  Maria  wants  me  to  stay  at 
home  on  the  farm  and  just  help  her.  Daddy 
doesn't  say  much,  but  he  did  ask  me  if  I  would  like  to 
go  to  Millersville.  That's  a  fine  Normal  School  and 
if  I  wanted  to  be  a  teacher  I'd  go  to  that  school,  but  I 
don't  want  to  be  a  teacher.  What  I  really  want  to  do 
is  go  away  and  study  music." 

"Well,  can't  you  do  it?  That  is  not.  really  im- 
possible." 

"  No,  but " 

"  No,  but,"  he  mimicked.  "  But  won't  take  you 
anywhere." 

;*  You  set  me  thinking,  David.  Perhaps  it  isn't  so 
improbable,  after  all.  I'm  coming  over  to  see  Mother 
Bab  to-morrow;  she'll  be  full  of  suggestions.  She'll 
see  a  way  for  me  to  get  what  I  want ;  she  always  does." 


128  PATCHWORK 

"  I  bet  she  will,"  agreed  David.  "  You'll  be  that 
primer  donner  yet,"  he  mimicked,  "  I  know  you  will." 

"  Oh,  Davie,  wouldn't  it  be  great !  But  I  wouldn't 
beautify  my  face  with  cream  and  beet  juice  and  flour !  " 

They  laughed  so  heartily  that  Aunt  Maria  turned 
and  asked  the  cause  of  the  merriment. 

"  We  were  just  speaking  of  the  time  when  I  dressed 
in  the  garret  and  fixed  my  face — the  time  you  had  the 
quilting  party." 

"Ach,"  Aunt  Maria  said,  smiling  in  the  darkness. 
"  You  looked  dreadful  that  day.  I  was  good  and  mad 
at  you!  But  I'm  glad  you're  big  enough  now  not  to 
do  such  dumb  things.  My,  now  that  you're  done  with 
school  and  will  stay  home  with  me  we  can  have  some 
nice  times  sewin'  and  quiltin'  and  makin'  rugs,  ain't, 
Phoebe?" 

In  the  semi-darkness  of  the  carriage  Phosbe  looked 
at  David.  The  appealing  wistfulness  of  her  face 
touched  him.  He  patted  her  arm  reassuringly  and 
whispered  to  her,  "  Don't  you  worry.  It'll  come  out 
all  right.  Mother  Bab  will  help  you." 


CHAPTER  IX 

A    VISIT   TO    MOTHER    BAB 

THE  next  day  as  Phcebe  walked  up  the  hill  to  visit 
Mother  Bab  she  went  eagerly  and  with  an  unusual 
light  in  her  eyes — she  had  transformed  her  schoolgirl 
braid  into  the  coiffure  of  a  woman !  The  golden  hair 
was  parted  in  the  middle,  twisted  into  a  shapely  knot 
in  the  nape  of  her  neck,  -and  the  effect  was  highly  sat- 
isfactory, she  thought. 

"  Mother  Bab  will  be  surprised,"  she  said  gladly  as 
she  swung  up  the  hill  in  rapid,  easy  strides.  "And 
David — I  wonder  what  David  will  say  if  he's  home." 

At  the  summit  of  the  hill  she  paused  and  turned, 
looked  back  at  the  gray  farmhouse  and  beyond  it  to 
the  little  town  of  Greenwald. 

"  I  just  must  stand  here  a  minute  and  look!  I  love 
this  view  from  the  hill." 

She  breathed  deeply  and  continued  to  revel  in  the 
beauty  of  the  scene.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  was  the 
Metz  farm  nestling  in  its  green  surroundings.  Like 
a  tan  ribbon  the  dusty  road  went  winding  past  green 
fields,  then  hid  itself  as  it  dipped  into  a  valley  and 
made  a  sharp  curve,  though  Phoebe  knew  that  it  went 
on  past  more  fields  and  meadows  to  the  town.  Where 
she  stood  she  had  a  view  of  the  tall  spires  of  Green- 
wald churches  straggling  through  the  trees,  and  the 


130  PATCHWORK 

red  and  slate  roofs  of  comfortable  houses  gleaming  in 
the  sunlight.  Beyond  and  about  the  town  lay  fields 
resplendent  in  the  pristine  freshness  of  May  greenery. 

"  Oh,"  she  said  aloud  after  a  long  gaze,  "  this  is 
glorious!  But  I  must  hurry  to  Mother  Bab.  I'm 
wild  to  have  her  see  me.  Aunt  Maria  just  said  when 
I  showed  her  my  hair,  *  Yes  well,  Phoebe,  I  guess 
you're  old  enough  to  wear  your  hair  up.'  Mother 
Bab  is  different.  Sometimes  I  pity  Aunt  Maria  and 
wonder  what  kind  of  childhood  she  had  to  make  her 
so  grim  about  some  things." 

The  little  house  in  which  David  and  his  mother 
lived  stood  near  the  country  road  leading  to  the  school- 
house  on  the  hill.  Like  many  other  farmhouses  of 
that  county  it  was  square,  substantial  and  unadorned, 
its  attractiveness  being  derived  solely  from  its  fine 
proportions,  its  colonial  doorways,  and  the  harmonious 
surroundings  of  trees  and  flowers.  The  garden  was 
eloquent  of  the  lavish  love  bestowed  upon  it.  Mother 
Bab  delighted  in  flowers  and  planted  all  the  old 
favorites.  The  walks  between  the  garden  beds  were 
trim  and  weedless,  the  yard  and  buildings  well  kept, 
and  the  entire  little  farm  gave  evidence  that  the  reputed 
Pennsylvania  Dutch  thrift  and  neatness  were  present 
there. 

Adjoining  the  farm  of  Mother  Bab  was  the  farm  of 
her  brother-in-law,  the  father  of  Phares  Eby.  This 
was  one  of  the  best  known  in  the  community.  Its 
great  barns  and  vast  acres  quite  eclipsed  the  modest 
little  dwelling  beside  it.  David  Eby  sometimes  sighed 
as  he  compared  the  two  farms  and  wondered  why  Fate 


A  VISIT  TO  MOTHER  BAB  131 

had  bestowed  upon  his  uncle's  efforts  an  almost  un- 
paralleled success  while  his  own  father  had  had  a 
continual  struggle  to  hold  on  to  the  few  acres  of  the 
little  farm.  Since  the  death  of  his  father  David  had 
often  felt  the  straining  of  the  yoke.  It  was  toil,  toil, 
on  acres  which  were  rich  but  apparently  unwilling  to 
yield  their  fullness.  One  year  the  crops  were  damaged 
by  hail,  another  year  prolonged  drought  prevented  full 
development  of  the  fruit,  again  continued  rainy 
weather  ruined  the  hay,  and  so  on,  year  in  and  year 
out,  there  was  seldom  a  season  when  the  farm  meas- 
ured up  to  the  expectations  of  the  hard-working  David. 
But  Mother  Bab  never  complained  about  the  ill-luck, 
neither  did  she  envy  the  woman  in  the  great  house  next 
to  her.  Mother  Bab's  philosophy  of  life  was  mainly 
cheerful: 

*'  I  find  earth  not  gray,  but  rosy, 

Heaven  not  grim,  but  fair  of  hue. 
Do  I  stoop  ?  I  pluck  a  posy. 
Do  I  stand  and  stare  ?  All's  blue." 

A  little  house  to  shelter  her,  a  big  garden  in  which 
to  work,  to  dream,  to  live;  enough  worldly  goods  to 
supply  daily  sustenance;  the  love  of  her  David — truly 
her  BELOVED,  as  the  old  Hebrew  name  signifies — the 
love  of  the  dear  Phoebe  who  had  adopted  her — given 
these  blessings  and  no  envy  or  discontent  ever  ventured 
near  the  white-capped  woman.  Life  had  brought  her 
many  hours  of  perplexity  and  several  great  sorrows, 
but  it  had  also  bestowed  upon  her  compensating  joys. 
She  felt  that  the  years  would  bring  her  new  joys,  now 
that  her  boy  was  grown  into  a  man  and  was  able  to 


132  PATCHWORK 

manage  the  farm.  Some  day  he  would  bring  home  a 
wife — how  she  would  love  David's  wife!  But  mean- 
while, she  was  not  lonely.  Her  friends  and  she  were 
much  together,  quilting,  rugging,  comparing  notes  on 
the  garden. 

"  Guess  Mother  Bab'll  be  in  the  garden,"  thought 
Phoebe,  "  for  it's  such  a  fine  day." 

But  as  she  neared  the  whitewashed  fence  of  the 
garden  she  saw  that  the  place  was  deserted.  She  ran 
lightly  up  the  walk,  rapped  at  the  kitchen  door,  and 
entered  without  waiting  for  an  answer  to  her  knock. 

"  Mother  Bab,"  she  called. 

"  I'm  here,  Phoebe,"  came  a  voice  from  the  sitting- 
room. 

"How  are  you?  Is  your  headache  all  gone?" 
Phoebe  asked  as  she  ran  to  the  beloved  person  who 
came  to  meet  her. 

"All  gone.  I  was  so  disappointed  last  night — but 
what  have  you  done  to  your  hair  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  forgot!"  Phoebe  lifted  her  head  proudly. 
"  I  meant  to  knock  at  the  front  door  and  be  company 
to-day.  I've  got  my  hair  up !  " 

"  Phoebe,  Phoebe,"  the  woman  drew  her  nearer. 
"  Let  me  look  at  you."  Her  eyes  scanned  the  face  of 
the  girl,  her  voice  quivered  as  she  spoke.  "  You've 
grown  up!  Of  course  it  didn't  come  in  a  night  but  it 
seems  that  way." 

"  The  May  fairies  did  it,  Mother  Bab.  Yesterday 
I  wore  a  braid.  This  morning  when  I  woke  I  heard 
the  robin  who  sings  every  morning  in  the  apple  tree 
outside  my  window  and  he  was  caroling,  '  Put  it  up ! 


A  VISIT  TO  MOTHER  BAB  133 

Put  it  up ! '  I  knew  he  meant  my  hair,  so  here  I  am, 
waiting  for  your  blessing." 

"  You  have  it,  you  always  have  it !  But  " — she 
changed  her  mood — "  are  you  sure  the  robin  wasn't 
saying,  '  Get  up,  get  up! '  Phoebe?  " 

"  Positive;  it  was  only  five  o'clock." 

"  Now  I  must  hear  all  about  last  night,"  said  Mother 
Bab  as  they  sat  together  on  the  broad  wooden  settee 
in  the  sitting-room.  "  David  told  me  how  nice  you 
looked  and  how  well  you  did." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  how  pleased  I  am  with  the  scarf? 
It's  just  lovely!  And  the  color  is  beautiful.  I  won- 
der why — I  wonder  why  I  love  pretty  things  so  much, 
really  pretty  things,  like  crepe  de  chine  and  taffeta  and 
panne  velvet  and  satin.  Oh,  sometimes  I  think  I  must 
have  them.  When  I  go  to  Lancaster  I  want  lots  of 
lovely  clothes  and  I  hate  ginghams  and  percales  and 
serviceable  things." 

"  I  know,  Phccbe,  I  know  how  you  feel  about  it." 

"Do  you  really?  Then  it  can't  be  so  awfully 
wicked.  You  are  so  understanding,  Mother  Bab.  I 
can't  tell  Aunt  Maria  how  I  feel  about  such  things  for 
she'd  be  dreadfully  hurt  or  worried  or  provoked,  but 
you  seem  always  to  know  what  I  mean  and  how  I 
feel." 

"  I  was  eighteen  myself  once,  a  good  many  years 
ago,  but  I  still  remember  it." 

"  You  have  a  good  memory.'* 

"  Yes.  Why,  I  can  remember  some  of  the  dresses 
I  wore  when  I  was  eighteen.  But  then,  I  have  a  dress 
bundle  to  help  me  remember  them." 


134  PATCHWORK 

"What's  a  dress  bundle?" 

"  Didn't  Aunt  Maria  keep  one  for  you?'" 

"  I  never  heard  of  one." 

"  It's  a  long  string  of  samples  of  dresses  you  wore 
when  you  were  little.  Wait,  I'll  get  mine  and  show 
you." 

She  left  the  room  and  went  up-stairs.  After  a 
short  time  she  returned  and  held  out  a  stout  thread 
upon  which  were  strung  small,  irregular  scraps  of 
dress  material.  "  This  is  my  dress  bundle.  My 
mother  started  it  for  me  when  I  was  a  baby  and  kept 
it  up  till  I  was  big  enough  to  do  it  myself.  Every 
time  I  got  a  new  dress  a  little  patch  of  the  goods  was 
threaded  on  my  dress  bundle." 

"  Oh,  may  I  see?  Why,  that's  just  like  a  part  of 
your  babyhood  and  childhood  come  back !  " 

The  two  heads  bent  over  the  bundle — the  girl's  with 
its  light  'hair  in  its  first  putting  up,  the  woman's  with 
its  graying  hair  folded  under  the  white  cap. 

"  Here " — Mother  Bab  turned  the  bundle  upside 
down  and  fingered  the  scraps  with  that  loving  way  of 
those  who  are  dreaming  of  long  departed  days  and 
touching  a  relic  of  those  cherished  hours — "  this  white 
calico  with  the  little  pink  dots  was  the  first  dress  any 
one  gave  me.  Grandmother  Hoerner  made  it  for  me, 
all  by  hand.  Funny,  wasn't  it,  the  way  they  used  to 
put  colored  dresses  on  wee  babies !  See,  here  are  pink 
calico  ones  and  white  with  red  figures  and  a  few  blue 
ones.  I  wore  all  these  when  I  was  a  baby.  Then 
when  I  grew  older  these;  they  are  much  prettier. 
This  red  delaine  I  wore  to  a  spelling  bee  when  I  was 


A  VISIT  TO  MOTHER  BAB  135 

about  sixteen  and  I  got  a  book  for  a  prize  for  standing 
up  next  to  last.  This  red  and  black  checked  debaige 
I  can  see  yet.  It  had  an  overskirt  on  it  trimmed  with 
little  ruffles.  This  purple  cashmere  with  the  yellow 
sprigs  in  it  I  had  all  trimmed  with  narrow  black  velvet 
ribbon.  I'll  never  forget  that  dress — I  wore  it  the 
day  I  met  David's  father." 

"  Oh,  you  must  have  looked  lovely!  " 

"  He  said  so."  She  smiled;  her  eyes  looked  beyond 
Phoebe,  back  to  the  golden  days  of  her  youth  when 
Love  had  come  to  her  to  bless  and  to  abide  with  her 
long  beyond  the  tarrying  of  the  spirit  in  the  flesh. 
"  He  said  I  looked  nice.  I  met  him  the  first  time  I 
wore  the  purple  dress.  It  was  at  a  corn-husking  party 
at  Jerry  Crumb's  barn.  Some  man  played  the  fiddle 
and  we  danced." 

"  Danced !  "  echoed  Phoebe. 

"  Yes,  danced.  But  just  the  old-fashioned  Virginia 
reel.  We  had  cider  and  apples  and  cake  and  pie  for 
our  treat  and  we  went  home  at  ten  o'clock!  David 
walked  home  with  me  in  the  moonlight  and  I  guess  we 
liked  each  other  from  the  first.  We  were  married  the 
next  year,  then  we  both  turned  plain." 

"  Were  you  ever  sorry,  Mother  Bab  ?  " 

"  That  I  married  him,  or  that  I  turned  plain?  " 

"  Yes.     Both,  I  mean." 

"  No,  never  sorry  once,  Phoebe,  about  either.  We 
were  happy  together.  And  about  turning  plain,  why, 
I  wasn't  sorry  either." 

"  But  you  had  to  give  up  Virginia  reels  and  pretty 
dresses." 


136  PATCHWORK 

"  Yes,  but  I  learned  there  are  deeper,  more  impor- 
tant things  than  dancing  and  wearing  pretty  dresses." 

She  looked  at  Phoebe,  but  the  girl  had  bowed  her 
head  over  the  dress  bundle  and  appeared  to  be  think- 
ing. 

"And  so,"  continued  Mother  Bab  softly,  "  my  bundle 
ended  with  that  dress.  Since  I  dress  plain  I  don't 
wear  colors,  just  gray  and  black.  But  I  always 
thought  if  I  had  a  girl  I'd  start  a  dress  bundle  for  her, 
for  it's  so  much  satisfaction  to  get  it  out  sometimes 
and  look  over  the  pieces  and  remember  the  dresses  and 
some  of  the  happy  times  you  had  when  you  wore  them. 
But  the  girl  never  came." 

"  But  you  have  David !  " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,  he's  been  so  much  to  me,  but  I 
couldn't  make  him  a  dress  bundle.  He  wouldn't  have 
liked  it  when  he  grew  older — boys  are  different.  And 
I  wouldn't  want  him  to  be  a  sissy,  either." 

"  He  isn't,  Mother  Bab.     He's  fine !  " 

"  I  think  so,  Phoebe.  He  has  worked  so  hard  since 
he's  through  school  and  he's  so  good  to  me  and  takes 
such  care  of  the  farm,  though  the  crops  don't  always 
turn  out  as  we  want.  But  you  haven't  told  me  what 
you  are  going  to  do,  now  that  you're  through  school." 

"  I  don't  know.     I  want  to  do  something." 

"Teach?" 

"  No.  What  I  would  like  best  of  all  is  study 
music." 

"  In  Greenwald?    You  mean  to  learn  to  play?  " 

"  No,  to  learn  to  sing.  I  have  often  dreamed  of 
studying  music  in  a  great  city,  like  Philadelphia." 


A  VISIT  TO  MOTHER  BAB  137 

"  What  would  you  do  then?  " 

"  Sing,  sing !  I  feel  that  my  voice  is  my  one  talent 
and  I  don't  want  to  bury  it." 

"  Well,  don't  Miss  Lee  live  in  Philadelphia?  Per- 
haps she  could  help  you  to  get  a  good  teacher  and  find 
a  place  to  board." 

"  Mother  Bab ! "  Phoebe  sprang  to  her  feet  and 
wrapped  her  arms  about  the  slender  little  woman. 
"That's  just  it!"  she  cried.  "I  never  thought  of 
that!  David  said  you'd  help  me.  I'll  write  to  Miss 
Lee  to-day ! " 

"  Phoebe,"  the  woman  said,  smiling  at  the  girl's  wild 
enthusiasm. 

"  I'm  not  crazy,  just  inspired,"  said  Phoebe.  "  You 
helped  me,  I  knew  you  would !  I  want  to  go  to  Philadel- 
phia to  study  music  but  I  know  daddy  and  Aunt  Maria 
would  never  listen  to  any  proposals  about  going  to  a  big 
city  and  living  among  strangers.  But  if  I  write  to  Miss 
Lee  and  she  says  she'll  help  me  the  folks  at  home  may 
consider  the  plan.  I'll  have  a  hard  time,  though  " — a 
reactionary  doubt  touched  her — "  I'll  have  a  dreadful 
time  persuading  Aunt  Maria  that  I'm  safe  and  sane  if 
I  mention  music  and  Philadelphia  and  Phoebe  in  the 
same  breath."  Then  she  smiled  determinedly.  "At 
least  I'm  going  to  make  a  brave  effort  to  get  what  I 
want.  I'm  not  going  to  settle  down  on  the  farm  and 
get  brown  and  fat  and  wear  gingham  dresses  all  my 
life,  and  sunbonnets  in  the  bargain!  I  never  could 
see  why  I  had  to  wear  sunbonnets,  I  always  hated 
them.  Aunt  Maria  always  tried  to  make  me  wear 
them,  but  as  soon  as  I  was  out  of  her  sight  I  sneaked 


138  PATCHWORK 

them  off.  I  remember  one  time  I  threw  my  bonnet 
in  the  Chicques  and  I  had  the  loveliest  time  watching 
it  disappear  down  the  stream.  But  Aunt  Maria 
made  me  make  another  one  that  was  uglier  still,  so 
I  gained  nothing  but  the  temporary  pleasure  of  seeing 
it  float  away.  And  how  I  hated  to  do  patchwork! 
It  seemed  to  me  I  was  always  doing  it,  and  I  never 
could  see  the  sense  of  cutting  up  pieces  and  then  sew- 
ing them  together  again." 

"  But  the  sewing  was  good  practice  for  you,  Phoebe. 
Patchwork — seems  to  me  all  our  life  is  patchwork:  a 
little  here  and  a  little  there;  one  color  now,  then 
another;  one  shape  first,  then  another  shape  fitted  in; 
and  when  it  is  all  joined  it  will  be  beautiful  if  we  keep 
the  parts  straight  and  the  colors  and  shapes  right. 
It  can  be  a  very  beautiful  rising  sun  or  an  equally 
pretty  flower  basket,  or  it  can  be  just  a  crazy  quilt  with 
little  of  the  beautiful  about  it." 

"  Mother  Bab,  if  I  had  known  that  while  I  was 
patching  I  would  have  loved  to  patch!  I  had  nothing 
to  make  it  interesting;  it  was  just  stitching,  stitching, 
stitching  on  seams !  But  those  vivid  quilts  are  all  fin- 
ished and  I  guess  Aunt  Maria  is  as  glad  about  it  as  I 
am,  for  I  gave  her  some  worried  hours  before  the  end 
was  sighted.  Poor  Aunt  Maria,  she  should  be  glad  to 
have  me  go  to  the  city.  I've  led  her  some  merry 
chases,  but  I  must  admit  she  was  always  equal  to  them, 
forged  ahead  of  me  many  times." 

"  Phoebe,  you're  a  wilful  child  and  I'm  afraid  I  spoil 
you  more." 

"No  you  don't!     You're  my  safety  valve.     If  I 


A  VISIT  TO  MOTHER  BAB  139 

couldn't  come  up  here  and  say  the  things  I  really  feel 
I'd  have  to  tell  it  to  the  Jenny  Wrens — Aunt  Maria 
hates  to  have  me  talk  to  myself." 

"  But  she's  good  to  you,  Phoebe?  " 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes !  I  appreciate  all  she  has  done  for 
me.  She  has  taken  care  of  me  since  I  was  a  tiny  baby. 
I'll  never  forget  that.  It's  just  that  we  are  so  dif- 
ferent. I  can't  make  Phoebe  Metz  be  just  like  Maria 
Metz,  can  I  ?  " 

"  No,  you  must  be  yourself,  even  if  you  are  dif- 
ferent." 

"  That's  it,  Mother  Bab.  I  feel  I  have  the  right 
to  live  my  life  as  I  choose,  that  no  person  shall  say  to 
me  I  must  live  it  so  or  so.  If  I  want  to  study  music 
why  shouldn't  I  do  so?  My  mother  left  a  few  hun- 
dred dollars  for  me;  it's  been  on  interest  and  amounts 
to  more  than  a  few  hundred,  about  a  thousand  dollars, 
I  think.  So  the  money  end  of  my  studying  music  need 
not  worry  Aunt  Maria.  I  am  determined  to  do  it, 
wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I'd  feel  the  same  way." 

"  How  did  you  learn  to  understand  so  well, 
Mother  Bab  ?  You  have  lived  all  your  life  on  a  farm, 
yet  you  are  not  narrow." 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  grown  narrow,"  the  woman 
said  softly.  "  I  have  read  a  great  deal.  I  have  read — 
don't  you  breathe  it  to  a  soul — I  have  often  read  when 
I  should  have  been  baking  pies  or  washing  windows !  " 

"  No  wonder  David  worships  you  so." 

"  I  still  enjoy  reading,"  said  Mother  Bab.  "  David 
subscribes  for  three  good  magazines  and  when  they 


I4o  PATCHWORK 

come  I'm  so  anxious  to  look  into  them  that  sometimes 
my  cooking  burns." 

"  That  must  be  one  of  the  reasons  your  English  is 
correct.  I  am  ashamed  of  myself  when  I  mix  my  v's 
and  w's  and  use  a  t  for  a  d.  I  have  often  wished  the 
Pennsylvania  Dutch  dialect  would  have  been  put  aside 
long  ago." 

"  Yes,"  the  woman  agreed,  "  I  can't  see  the  need  of 
it.  It  has  been  ridiculed  so  long  that  it  should  have 
died  a  natural  death.  It's  a  mystery  to  me  how  it  has 
survived.  But  cheer  up,  Phoebe,  the  gibberish  is  dying 
out.  The  older  people  will  continue  to  speak  it  but 
the  younger  generations  are  becoming  more  and  more 
English  speaking.  Why,  do  you  know,  Phoebe,  since 
this  war  started  in  Europe  and  I  read  the  dreadful 
crimes  the  Germans  are  committing  I  feel  that  I  never 
want  to  hear  or  say, '  Yah.' ' 

"Bully!"  Phoebe  clapped  her  hands.  "I  said  to 
old  Aaron  Hogendobler  yesterday  that  I'm  ashamed  I 
have  a  German  name  and  some  German  ancestors, 
even  if  they  did  come  to  this  country  before  the  Revo- 
lution, and  he  said  no  one  need  feel  shame  at  that, 
but  every  American  who  is  not  one  hundred  per  cent 
American  should  die  from  shame.  I  know  we  Penn- 
sylvania Dutch  can  carry  our  end  of  the  burdens  of 
the  world  and  be  real  Americans,  but  I  want  to  sound 
like  one  too." 

Mother  Bab  laughed.  "Just  yesterday  I  said  to 
David  that  the  butter  was  all." 

"  I  say  that  very  often.     I  must  read  more." 

"And   I   less.     I   haven't   told   you,    Phoebe,    nor 


A  VISIT  TO  MOTHER  BAB  141 

David,  but  my  eyes  are  going  back  on  me.  I  went  to 
Lancaster  a  few  weeks  ago  and  the  doctor  there  said 
I  must  be  very  careful  not  to  strain  them  at  all.  I 
think  I'd  rather  lose  any  other  sense  than  sight.  I 
always  thought  it  was  the  greatest  affliction  in  the 
world  to  be  blind." 

"  It  is !     It  mustn't  come  to  you,  Mother  Bab !  " 

The  woman  looked  worried,  but  in  a  moment  her 
face  brightened. 

"Anyhow,"  she  said,  "  what's  the  use  of  worrying  or 
thinking  about  it?  If  it  ever  comes  I'll  have  to  bear 
it  just  as  many  other  people  are  bearing  it.  I'm  glad 
I  have  sight  to-day  to  see  you." 

Phcebe  gave  her  an  ecstatic  hug.  "  I  believe  you're 
Irish  instead  of  Pennsylvania  Dutch!  You  do  know 
how  to  blarney  and  you  have  that  coaxing,  lovely  way 
about  you  that  the  Irish  are  supposed  to  have." 

"  Why,  Phoebe,  I  am  part  Irish !  My  mother's 
maiden  name  was  McKnight.  David  and  I  still  have 
a  few  drops  of  the  Irish  blood  in  us,  I  suppose." 

"  I  just  knew  it !  I'm  glad.  I  adore  the  whimsical 
way  the  Irish  have,  and  I  like  their  sense  of  humor. 
I  guess  that's  one  of  the  reasons  I  like  you  better  than 
other  people  I  know  and  perhaps  that's  why  David  is 
jolly  and  different  from  Phares.  Ah,"  she  added 
roguishly,  "  I  think  it's  a  pity  Phares  hasn't  some  Irish 
blood  in  him.  He's  so  solemn  he  seldom  sees  a  joke." 

"  But  he's  a  good  boy  and  he  thinks  a  lot  of  you. 
He's  just  a  little  too  quiet.  But  he's  a  good  preacher 
and  very  bright." 

"  Yes,  he's  so  good  that  I'm  ashamed  of  myself 


I42  PATCHWORK 

when  I  say  mean  things  about  him.  I  like  him,  but 
people  with  more  life  are  more  interesting." 

"Hello,  who's  this  you  like?"  David's  hearty 
voice  burst  upon  them. 

Phoebe  turned  and  saw  him  standing  in  the  sunlight 
of  the  open  door.  The  thought  flashed  upon  her, 
"  How  big  and  strong  he  is!  " 

He  wore  brown  corduroys,  a  blue  chambray  shirt 
slightly  open  at  the  throat,  heavy  shoes.  His  face  was 
already  tanned  by  the  wind  and  sun,  his  hands  rough 
from  contact  with  soil  and  farming  implements,  his 
dark  hair  rumpled  where  he  had  pulled  the  big  straw 
hat  from  his  head,  but  there  was  an  odor  of  fresh 
spring  earth  about  him,  a  boyish  wholesomeness  in 
his  face,  that  attracted  the  girl  as  she  looked  at  his 
frame  in  the  doorway. 

There  was  a  flash  of  white  teeth,  a  twinkle  in  his 
dark  eyes,  as  he  asked,  "  What  did  I  hear  you  say, 
Phoebe — that  you  like  me?" 

"  Indeed  not !  I  wouldn't  think  of  liking  anybody 
who  deceived  me  as  you  have  done.  All  these  years 
you  have  left  me  under  the  impression  that  you  are 
Pennsylvania  Dutch  and  now  Mother  Bab  says  you 
are  part  Irish." 

"Little  saucebox!  What  about  yourself?  You 
can't  make  me  believe  that  you  are  pure,  unadulterated 
Pennsylvania  Dutch.  There's  some  alien  blood  in 
you,  by  the  ways  of  you.  Have  you  seen  Phares  this 
afternoon?"  he  asked  irrelevantly. 

"Phares?     No.     Why?" 

"  He  went  down  past  the  field  some  time  ago.     Said 


A  VISIT  TO  MOTHER  BAB  143 

he's  going  to  Greenwald  and  means  to  stop  and  ask 
you  to  go  to  a  sale  with  him  next  week.  He  said  you 
mentioned  some  time  ago  that  you'd  like  to  go  to  a 
real  old-fashioned  one  and  he  heard  of  one  coming 
off  next  week  and  thought  you  might  like  to  go." 

"  I  surely  want  to  go.  Don't  you  want  to  come,  too, 
Davkl  ?  And  Mother  Bab  ?  " 

But  David  shook  his  head.  "And  spoil  Phares's 
party,"  he  said.  "  Phares  wouldn't  thank  us." 

Phoebe  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Ach,  David  Eby, 
you're  silly !  Just  as  though  I  want  to  go  to  a  sale  all 
alone  with  Phares !  He  can  take  the  big  carriage  and 
take  us  all." 

"  He  can  but  he  won't  want  to."  David  showed  an 
irritating  wisdom.  "  When  I  invite  you  to  come  on 
a  party  with  me  I  won't  want  Phares  tagging  after, 
either.  Two's  company." 

"  Two's  boredom  sometimes,"  she  said  so  am- 
biguously that  the  man  laughed  heartily  and  Mother 
Bab  smiled  in  amusement. 

"  Come  now,  Phoebe,"  David  said,  "  just  because 
you  put  your  hair  up  you  mustn't  think  you  can  rule 
us  all  and  don  grown-up  airs." 

"  Then  you  do  notice  things !  I  thought  you  were 
blind.  You  are  downright  mean,  David  Eby !  When 
you  wore  your  first  pair  of  long  pants  I  noticed  it  right 
away  and  made  a  fuss  about  them  and  it  takes  you  ten 
minutes  to  see  that  my  hair  is  up  instead  of  hanging 
in  a  silly  braid  down  my  back." 

"  I  saw  it  first  thing,  Phoebe.  That  was  mean — 
I'm  sorry " 


144  PATCHWORK 

"  You  look  it,"  she  said  sceptically. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  repeated,  "  to  see  the  braid  go, 
though  you  look  fine  this  way.  I  liked  that  long 
braid  ever  since  the  day  I  braided  it,  the  day  you 
played  prima  donna.  Remember  ?  " 

The  girl  flushed,  then  was  vexed  at  her  embarrass- 
ment and  changed  suddenly  to  the  old,  appealing 
Phoebe. 

"  I  remember,  Davie.  You  were  my  salvation  that 
day,  you  and  Mother  Bab." 

Before  they  could  answer  she  added  with  seeming 
innocency,  yet  with  a  swift  glance  into  the  face  of 
the  farmer  boy,  "  I  must  go  now  so  I'll  be  home  when 
Phares  comes  to  invite  me  to  that  sale.  I'm  going 
with  him ;  I'm  wild  to  go." 

"  Yes  ?  "  David  said  slowly. 

"  Yes,"  she  repeated,  a  teasing  look  in  her  eyes. 

"  Mommie,  isn't  she  fine  ?  "  David  said  after  Phoebe 
was  gone  and  he  lingered  in  the  house. 

"  Mighty  fine.  But  she  is  so  different  from  the 
general  run  of  girls;  she's  so  lively  and  bright  and 
sweet,  so  sensitive  to  all  impressions.  She's  anxious 
to  get  to  the  city  to  study  music.  It  would  be  a  won- 
derful experience  for  her — and  yet " 

"And  yet "  echoed  David,  then  fell  into  si- 
lence. 

Mother  Bab  was  thinking  of  her  boy  and  Phoebe, 
of  their  gay  comradeship.  How  friendly  they  were, 
how  well-mated  they  appeared  to  be,  how  appreciative 
of  each  other.  Could  they  ever  care  for  each  other 
in  a  deeper  way  ?  Did  the  preacher  care  for  the  play- 


A  VISIT  TO  MOTHER  BAB  145 

mate  of  his  childhood  as  she  thought  David  was  be- 
ginning to  care  ? 

"  Well,  I  must  go  again,  mommie.  I  came  in  for 
a  drink  at  the  pump  and  heard  you  and  Phoebe.  Now 
I  must  hustle  for  I  have  a  lot  to  do  before  sundown — 
ach,  why  aren't  we  rich !  " 

"  Do  you  wish  for  that?  " 

"  Certainly  I  do.  Not  wealthy ;  just  to  have  enough 
so  we  needn't  lie  awake  wondering  if  the  dry  spell 
or  the  wet  spell  or  the  hail  will  ruin  the  crops.  I 
wish  I  could  find  an  Aladdin's  lamp." 

"  Davie  " — the  smile  faded  from  her  face —  "  don't 
get  the  money  craze.  Money  isn't  everything.  This 
farm  is  paid  for  and  we  can  always  make  a  comfort- 
able living.  Money  isn't  all." 

"  No,  but — but  it  means  everything  sometimes  to  a 
young,  single  fellow.  But  don't  you  worry ;  the  crops 
are  fine  this  year,  so  far." 

The  mother  did  not  forget  his  words  at  once.  "  It 
must  be,"  she  thought,  "  that  David  wants  Phoebe  and 
feels  he  must  have  more  money  before  he  can  ask  her 
to  marry  him.  Will  men  never  learn  that  girls  who 
are  worth  getting  are  not  looking  so  much  for  money 
but  the  man.  The  young  can't  see  the  depth  and  full- 
ness of  love.  I've  tried  to  teach  David,  but  I  sup- 
pose there's  some  things  he  must  learn  for  himself." 


CHAPTER  X 

AN  OLD-FASHIONED  COUNTRY  SALE 

A  WEEK  later  Phares  and  Phoebe  drove  into  the 
barnyard  of  a  farm  six  miles  from  Greenwald,  where 
the  old-fashioned  sale  was  scheduled  to  be  held. 

"  We  are  not  the  first,  after  all,"  said  the  preacher 
as  he  saw  the  number  of  conveyances  in  and  about  the 
barnyard.  He  smiled  good-humoredly  as  he  led  the 
way — he  could  afford  to  smile  when  he  was  with 
Phrcbe. 

All  about  the  big  yard  of  the  farm  were  placed 
articles  to  be  sold  at  public  auction.  It  was  a  miscel- 
laneous collection.  A  cradle  with  miniature  puffy 
feather  pillows,  straw  tick  and  an  old  patchwork  quilt 
of  pink  and  white  calico  stood  near  an  old  wood- 
stove  which  bore  the  inscription,  COXOWIXGO  FUR- 
NACE. Corn-husk  shoe-mats,  a  quilting  frame,  rock- 
ing-chairs, two  spinning-wheels,  copper  kettles,  rolls 
of  hand-woven  rag  carpet,  old  oval  hat-boxes  and  an 
old  chest  stood  about  a  huge  table  which  was  laden 
with  jars  of  jellies.  Chests,  filled  with  linens  and 
antique  woolen  coverlets,  afforded  a  resting  place  for 
the  fortunate  ones  who  had  arrived  earliest.  A  few 
antique  chairs  and  tables,  a  mahogany  highboy  in  ex- 
cellent condition  and  an  antique  corner-cupboard  of 
wild-cherry  wood  occupied  prominent  places  among 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  COUNTRY  SALE   147 

the  collection.  Truly,  the  sale  warranted  the  attention 
it  was  receiving. 

"  I'd  like  to  bid  on  something — I'm  going  to  do  it!  " 
Phoebe  said  as  they  looked  about.  "  When  I  was  a 
little  girl  and  went  to  sales  with  Aunt  Maria  I  coaxed 
to  bid,  just  for  the  excitement  of  bidding.  But  she 
always  made  me  tell  what  I  wanted  and  then  she  bid 
on  it." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  buy?  "  asked  the  preacher. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  don't  want  any  apple-butter 
in  crocks,  or  any  chairs.  Oh,  I'll  have  some  fun, 
Phares!  I'll  bid  on  the  third  article  they  put  up  for 
sale!  I  heard  a  man  say  the  dishes  are  going  to  be 
sold  first,  so  I'll  probably  get  a  cracked  plate  or  a  saucer 
without  a  cup,  but  whatever  it  is,  the  third  article  is 
going  to  be  mine." 

"  That  is  rather  rash,"  warned  Phares.  "  It  may 
be  a  bed  or  a  chest." 

"  You  can't  scare  me.  I'm  going  to  have  some  real 
thrills  at  this  sale." 

The  preacher  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  girl  and 
smiled  at  her  promise  to  bid  on  the  third  thing  put  up 
for  sale. 

"  Oh,  look  at  the  highboy,"  she  exclaimed  to  him. 

"  Do  you  like  it?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes.  See  how  it's  inlaid  with  hollywood  and 
cherry  and  how  fine  the  lines  of  it  are !  I  wonder  how 
much  it  will  bring.  But  Aunt  Maria'd  scold  if  I 
brought  any  furniture  home,  so  I  can't  buy  it." 

"  The  price  will  depend  upon  the  number  of  bidders 
and  the  size  of  their  pocketbooks.  If  any  dealers  in. 


I48  PATCHWORK 

/ 

antiques  are  here  it  may  run  way  up.  We  used  to  buy 
homespun  linen  and  fine  old  furniture  very  cheap  at 
sales,  but  the  antique  dealers  changed  that." 

By  that  time  the  number  of  people  was  steadily  in- 
creasing. They  came  singly  and  in  groups,  in  car- 
riages, farm  wagons,  automobiles  and  afoot.  Some 
of  the  curious  went  about  examining  each  article  in 
the  motley  collection  in  the  yard. 

Phoebe  watched  it  all  with  an  amused  smile;  finally 
she  broke  into  merry  laughter. 

Phares  looked  up  inquiringly:  "  What  is  it?  " 

"  This  is  great  sport !  I  haven't  been  to  a  good  sale 
for  several  years.  That  old  man  has  knocked  his  fist 
upon  every  chair  and  table,  has  tested  every  piece  of 
furniture,  has  opened  all  the  bureau  drawers,  even  the 
case  of  the  old  clock,  and  just  a  moment  ago  he  rocked 
the  cradle  furiously  to  convince  himself  that  it  is  in 
good  working  condition.  Here  he  comes  with  a 
pewter  plate  in  his  hand — let's  hear  what  he  has  to  say 
about  it." 

The  old  man's  cracked  harsh  voice  rose  above  the 
confusion  of  other  sounds  as  he  leaned  against  a  table 
near  Phoebe  and  Phares  and  spoke  to  another  man-: 

"  Here  now,  Eph;  is  one  of  them  pewter  plates  that 
folks  fuss  so  about  just  now,  and  I  hear  they  put  them 
in  their  dinin'-rooms  along  the  wall!  Why,  when  I 
was  a  boy  my  granny  had  a  lot  of  'em  and  we'd  knock 
'em  around  any  way.  Ha,  ha,"  he  laughed  loudly,  "  I 
can  tell  you  a  good  one,  Eph,  about  one  of  them  pewter 
dishes." 

He  slapped  the  plate  against  his  knee,  but  the  thud 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  COUNTRY  SALE    149 

was  instantly  drowned  by  his  quick,  "Ach,  Jimminy,  I 
hit  myself  pretty  hard  that  time!  But  I'll  tell  you 
about  it,  Eph.  You  heard  of  the  fellows  from  the 
city  who  go  around  the  country  hunting  up  old  relics, 
all  old  truck,  and  sell  it  again  in  the  city?  Well,  one 
of  them  fellows  come  to  my  house  the  other  week  and 
asked  if  I  had  anything  old-fashioned  I  would  sell. 
Now  if  Lizzie'd  been  home  we  might  got  rid  of  some 
of  the  old  things  we  have  on  the  garret,  but  I  was  alone 
and  I  didn't  know  what  I  dared  sell — you  know  how 
the  women  is.  So  I  said,  '  What  kind  of  old  tilings 
do  you  want  ?  ' 

'  Oh/  he  said,  '  I  buy  old  furniture,  dishes,  linen, 
pewter ' 

"  '  Pewter  ?  '  I  said.     '  Who  wants  that  ?  ' 

'  There  is  a  great  demand  for  it/  he  said,  '  and  I 
will  give  you  a  good  price  for  any  you  have.' 

'  Well/     I  laughed,  '  I  have  just  one  piece  of 
pewter.' 

"'Where  is  it?' 

'  Why,  the  cats  have  been  eating  out  of  it  for  a 
few  years/ 

"'May  I  see  it? 'he  asks. 

"  So  I  took  him  out  to  the  barn  and  showed  him  the 
big  pewter  bowl  the  cats  eat  out  of  and  he  said,  '  I'll 
give  you  fifty  cents  for  that  dish.' 

"  Gosh,  I  said  to  him,  *  Mister,  I  was  just  fooling 
with  you.  I  know  you  don't  want  a  cat-dish.' 

"  But  he  said  again,  '  I'll  give  you  fifty  cents  for 
that  dish.' 

"  So  when  I  saw  that  he  reallv  meant  it  and  wanted 


i5o  PATCHWORK 

the  dish  I  wrapped  the  old  pewter  dish  in  a  paper  and 
he  gave  me  half  a  dollar  for  it.  When  I  told  Lizzie 
about  it  she  laughed  good  and  said  the  city  folks  must 
be  dumb  if  they  want  pewter  dishes  when  you  can  buy 
such  nice  ones  for  ten  cents.  Yes,  Eph,  that's  the  fel- 
low's going  to  auctioneer.  He's  a  good  one,  you  bet ; 
he  keeps  things  lively  all  the  time.  All  his  folks  is 
good  talkers.  Lizzie  says  his  mom  can  talk  the  legs 
off  an  iron  pot.  But  then  he  needs  a  good  tongue  in 
this  business;  it  takes  a  lot  of  wind  to  be  an  auctioneer, 
specially  at  a  big  sale  like  this.  He  says  it's  going 
to  be  a  wonderful  sale,  that  he  ain't  had  one  like  it  for 
years.  There's  things  here  belonged  to  the  family  for 
three  generations,  been  handed  down  and  handed 
down  and  now  to-day  it'll  get  scattered  all  over  Lan- 
caster County,  mebbe  further.  This  saving  up  things 
and  not  using  'em  is  all  nonsense.  I  tell  Lizzie  we'll 
use  what  we  got  and  get  new  when  it's  worn  out  and 
not  let  a  lot  back  for  the  young  ones  to  fight  over  or 
other  people  to  buy." 

Here  the  auctioneer  climbed  upon  a  big  box,  clapped 
his  hands  and  called  loudly,  "Attention,  attention! 
This  sale  is  about  to  begin.  We  have  here  a  collection 
of  fine  things,  all  in  good  condition.  The  terms  of  the 
sale  are  cash.  Now,  folks,  bid  up  fast  and  talk  loud 
when  you  bid  so  I  can  hear  you.  We  have  here  some 
of  the  finest  antique  dishes  in  the  country,  also  some 
furniture  that  can't  be  duplicated  in  any  store  to-day. 
We'll  begin  on  this  cherry  table." 

He  lifted  a  spindle-legged  table  in  the  air  and  went 
on  talking. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  COUNTRY  SALE   151 

"  Now  that's  a  fine  table  to  begin  with !  All  solid 
cherry,  no  screws  loose — and  that's  more  than  you  can 
say  about  some  people — now  what's  bid  for  this  table  ? 
Fine  and  good  as  the  day  it  came  out  of  a  good  work- 
man's shop;  no  scratches  on  it — the  Brubaker  people 
knew  how  to  take  care  of  furniture.  Who  bids? 
How  much  for  it  do  you  bid?  Fifty  cents — fifty,  all 
right — make  it  sixty — sixty  cents  I'm  bid.  Sixty, 
sixty,  sixty — seventy — go  ahead,  eighty — go  on — 
ninety,  one  dollar,  one  dollar  ten,  twenty,  thirty — 
keep  on — one  dollar  thirty,  make  it  forty,  forty,  forty, 
forty,  I  have  a  dollar  forty  for  this  table — all  done? 
Going — all  done — all  done?  " 

All  was  said  in  one  breathless  succession  of  words. 
He  paused  an  instant  to  gather  fresh  impetus,  then  re- 
sumed, "All  done — any  more?  Gone  at  a  dollar 
forty  to " 

"  Lizzie  Brubaker." 

"  Sold  to  Lizzie  Brubaker." 

"  There,"  whispered  the  preacher  to  Phcebe,  "  that's 
one." 

She  smiled  and  nodded  her  head. 

"  Here  now,"  called  the  auctioneer,  "  here's  a  fine 
set  of  chairs.  Bid  on  them ;  wink  to  me  if  you  don't 
want  to  call  out.  My  wife  said  she  don't  care  how 
many  ladies  wink  to  me  this  afternoon  at  this  sale,  but 
after  that  she  won't  have  it — now  then;  go  ahead! 
Give  me  one  of  the  chairs,  Sam,  so  the  people  can  see 
it — ah,  ain't  that  a  beauty!  Six  in  all,  all  solid  wood, 
too,  none  of  your  cane  seats  that  you  have  to  be  afraid 
to  sit  in.  All  solid  wood,  and  every  one  alike,  all 


152  PATCHWORK 

painted  green  and  every  one  with  fine  hand-painted 
flowers  on  the  back.  Where  can  you  beat  such  chairs  ? 
Don't  make  them  any  more  these  days,  real  antiques 
they  are!  Bid  up  now,  friends;  how  much  a  piece? 
The  six  go  together,  it  would  be  a  shame  to  part  them. 
Fifteen  cents  did  I  hear? — Say,  I'm  ashamed  to  take 
a  bid  like  that !  Twenty,  that's  a  little  better — thirty, 
thirty,  forty  over  here?  Forty  cents  I  have,  fifty, 
sixty,  seventy,  seventy-five,  eighty,  eighty,  eighty  cents 
I'm  bid;  I'm  bid  eighty  cents — make  it  ninety — ninety 
I'm  bid,  make  it  a  dollar — ninety,  ninety — all  done  at 
ninety  ?  Guess  we'll  let  Jonas  Erb  have  them  at  ninety 
cents  a  piece,  and  real  bargains  they  are !  " 

"  Here's  where  I  bid,"  said  Phoebe,  her  cheeks  rosy 
from  excitement. 

"  Shall  I  release  you  from  your  promise  ?  "  offered 
the  preacher. 

"  No,  I'll  bid." 

"Attention,"  called  the  auctioneer.  "Attention, 
everybody!  Here  we  have  a  real  antique,  something 
worth  bidding  on! " 

Phoebe  held  her  breath. 

"  Here  now,  Sam,  give  it  a  lift  so  everybody  can 
see — ah,  there  you  are !  " 

He  shouted  the  last  words  as  two  men  held  above 
the  crowd — the  old  wooden  cradle ! 

Phoebe  groaned  and  looked  at  Phares — he  was  smil- 
ing. The  old  aversion  to  ridicule  swelled  in  her;  he 
should  not  have  reason  to  laugh  at  her;  she  would 
show  him  that  she  was  equal  to  the  occasion — she 
would  bid  on  the  cradle! 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  COUNTRY  SALE   153 

"  Start  it,  hurry  up,  somebody.  How  much  is  bid 
for  the  cradle?  Sam  here  says  it's  been  in  the  Bru- 
baker  family  for  years  and  years.  Think  of  all  the 
babies  that  were  rocked  to  sleep  in  it — it's  a  real  relic." 

Phoebe,  unacquainted  with  the  value  of  cradles,  was 
silently  endeavoring  to  determine  the  proper  amount 
for  a  first  bid.  She  was  relieved  to  hear  a  woman's 
voice  call,  "  Twenty-five  cents." 

"  Twenty-five  I  have,  twenty-five,"  called  the  auc- 
tioneer. "  Make  it  thirty." 

"  Thirty,"  said  Phoebe. 

"  Forty,"  came  from  the  other  woman. 

"  Make  it  fifty,  Miss."  He  pointed  a  fat  finger  at 
Phoebe. 

"  Fifty,"  she  responded. 

"  Fifty,  fifty,  anybody  make  it  sixty  ?  Fifty  cents — 
all  done  at  fifty?  Then  it  goes  at  fifty  cents  to" — 
Phoebe  repeated  her  name — "  to  Phcebe  Metz." 

He  proceeded  with  the  sale.  Phoebe  turned  tri- 
umphantly to  the  preacher — "  I  kept  my  promise." 

;<  You  did,"  he  said.  "  The  cradle  is  yours — what 
are  you  going  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Gracious !  Why,  I  never  thought  of  that !  I 
don't  want  it.  I  just  wanted  the  fun  of  bidding. 
Can't  I  pay  it  and  leave  it  and  they  can  sell  it  over 
again  ?  ** 

"  You  bid  rashly,"  the  preacher  said,  though  his 
eyes  were  smiling  and  his  usual  tone  of  admonition 
was  absent  from  his  voice.  "  I  think  you  may  be  able 
to  sell  it  to  the  woman  who  was  bidding  against  you.'* 

"  I'll  find  her  and  give  it  to  her.'* 


154  PATCHWORK 

She  elbowed  her  way  through  the  crowd  until  she 
reached  the  place  from  which  the  opposing  voice  had 
come.  She  looked  about  a  moment,  then  addressed  a 
woman  near  her.  "  Do  you  know  who  was  bidding  on 
the  cradle  ? " 

"  Yes,  it  was  Hetty  here,  the  one  with  the  white 
waist.  Here,  Hetty,  this  lady  wants  to  talk  to 
you." 

"  To  me?  "  echoed  the  rival  bidder  for  the  cradle. 

"  Did  you  bid  on  the  cradle? "  asked  Phrcbe. 

"  Yes,  but  I  didn't  get  it.  I  only  wanted  it  because 
it  was  in  the  family  so  long.  I'm  a  Brubaker.  I  said 
I  wouldn't  give  more  than  fifty  cents  for  it,  for  it 
would  just  stand  up  in  the  garret  anyway,  and  be  one 
more  thing  to  move  around  at  housecleaning  time. 
Yet  I'd  liked  to  have  it.  I  don't  know  who  got  it." 

"  I  did,  but  I  don't  want  it.  I'd  like  to  give  it  to 
you." 

"  Why  " — the  woman  was  amazed — "  what  did  you 
bid  on  it  for?" 

"  Just  for  the  fun  of  bidding,"  said  Phrcbe,  laugh- 
ing. "  Will  you  let  me  give  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  I'll  give  you  half  a  dollar  for  it,"  offered  the 
woman. 

"  No,  I  mean  it.  I  want  to  give  it  to  you.  I'll 
consider  it  a  favor  if  you'll  take  it  from  me." 

"  Well,  if  you  want  it  that  way.  But  don't  you 
want  the  quilt  and  the  feather  pillows  ?  " 

"  No,  take  it  just  as  it  is." 

"  Why,  thanks,"  said  the  woman  as  she  went  to  the 
spot  where  the  cradle  stood.  She  soon  walked  away 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  COUNTRY  SALE   155 

with  the  clumsy  gift  in  her  arm.  "  Now  don't  it  beat 
all,"  she  said  as  she  set  it  down  near  her  friends.  "  I 
just  knew  that  I'd  get  a  present  to-day.  This  morning 
I  put  my  stocking  on  wrong  side  out  and  I  just  left  it 
for  they  say  still  that  it  means  you'll  get  a  present  be- 
fore the  day  is  over,  and  here  I  get  this  cradle !  " 

With  a  bright  smile  illumining  her  face,  Phoebe  re- 
joined the  preacher. 

"  I  see  you  disposed  of  the  cradle,"  he  greeted  her. 

"  Yes.  But  I  felt  like  a  hypocrite  when  she  thanked 
me,  for  I  was  giving  her  what  I  didn't  want." 

Here  the  busy  auctioneer  called  again,  "Attention, 
everybody!  This  piece  of  furniture  we  are  going  to 
sell  now  dates  back  to  ante-bellum  days." 

"Ach,  it  don't,"  Phoebe  heard  a  voice  exclaim. 
"That  never  belonged  to  any  person  called  Bellem; 
that  was  old  Amanda  Brubaker's  for  years  and  she 
used  to  tell  me  that  it  belonged  to  her  grandmother 
once.  That  man  don't  know  what  he's  saying,  but 
that's  the  way  these  auctioneers  do;  you  can't  believe 
half  they  say  at  a  sale  half  the  time." 

Phoebe  looked  up  at  Phares;  both  smiled,  but  the 
loquacious  auctioneer,  not  knowing  the  comments  he 
was  causing,  went  on  serenely: 

"  Yes,  sir,  this  is  a  real  old  piece  of  furniture,  a  real 
antique.  Look  at  this,  everybody — a  chest  of  drawers, 
a  highboy,  some  people  call  it,  but  it's  pretty  by  any 
name.  All  of  it  is  genuine  mahogany  trimmed  with 
inlaid  pieces  of  white  wood.  Start  it  up,  somebody. 
What  will  you  give  for  the  finest  thing  we  have  here 
at  this  sale  to-day?  What's  bid?  Good!  I'm  bid 


156  PATCHWORK 

five  dollars  to  begin;  shows  you  know  a  good  thing 
when  you  see  it.  Five  dollars — make  it  ten  ?  " 

"  Ten,"  answered  Phares  Eby. 

Phoebe  gave  a  start  of  surprise  as  the  preacher's 
voice  came  in  answer  to  the  entreaty  of  the  auctioneer. 

"  Phares,"  she  whispered,  "  I  didn't  mean  that  I 
want  to  buy  it." 

"  I  am  buying  it,"  he  said  calmly,  an  inscrutable 
smile  in  his  eyes.  "  You  like  it,  don't  you  ?  " 

She  felt  a  vague  uneasiness  at  his  words,  at  the  new 
sound  of  tenderness  in  his  voice. 

"  Yes,  I  like  it,  but " 

"  Then  we'll  talk  about  that  some  other  day  soon," 
he  returned,  and  looked  again  at  the  busy  auctioneer. 

"  Ten  dollars,  ten,  ten,"  came  the  eager  call  of  the 
man  on  the  box.  "Who  makes  it  fifteen?  That's 
it — fifteen  I  have — sixteen,  eighteen — twenty — twenty- 
five,  thirty — thirty,  thirty,  come  on,  who  makes  it 
more?  Not  done  yet?  Not  going  for  that  little  bit? 
Who  makes  it  thirty-five?  " 

"  Thirty-five,"  said  Phares. 

"  Thirty-five,"  the  auctioneer  caught  at  the  words. 
"  That's  the  way  to  bid." 

"  Thirty-eight,"  came  a  voice  from  the  crowd. 

"  Thirty-eight,"  the  auctioneer  smiled  broadly  at 
the  bid.  "  Some  person  is  going  to  get  a  fine  an- 
tique— keep  it  up,  the  highest  bidder  gets  it — thirty- 
eight " 

"  Forty,"  offered  Phares. 

"  Forty,  forty  dollars — I  have  forty  dollars  offered 
for  the  highboy — all  done  at  forty " 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  COUNTRY  SALE   157 

There  was  a  tense  silence. 

"  Forty  dollars — all  done  at  forty — last  call — go- 
ing— going — gone.  Gone  at  forty  dollars  to  Phares 
Eby." 

Phoebe  turned  to  the  preacher.  "  Did  you  bid  just 
for  the  fun  of  bidding?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,"  he  replied  slowly,  "  the  cases  are  not  ex- 
actly alike.  You  like  the  highboy,  don't  you  ?  " 

"Yes — but  what  has  that  to  do  with  it?"  She 
looked  up,  but  turned  her  head  away  quickly.  What 
did  he  mean  ?  Surely  Phares  was  not  given  to  foolish- 
ness or  love-making  to  her! 

She  was  glad  that  he  suggested  moving  to  the  edge 
of  the  crowd  after  his  successful  bidding  was  com- 
pleted. There  a  welcome  diversion  came  in  the  form 
of  the  old  man  who  had  previously  amused  them  by  his 
talk  about  the  pewter  plate. 

"  There  now,  Eph,"  he  was  saying,  "  what  do  you 
think  of  paying  forty  dollars  for  that  old  chest  of 
drawers?  To  be  sure  it's  good  and  all  the  drawers 
work  yet — I  tried  'em  before  the  sale  commenced. 
But  forty  dollars — whew !  " 

The  stupidity  and  extravagance  of  some  people 
silenced  him  for  a  moment,  then  he  continued:  "My 
Lizzie,  now,  she  knows  better  how  to  spend  money. 
She  bought  ten  dollars'  worth  of  flavors  and  soap  and 
things  like  that  and  she  got  in  the  bargain  a  big  chest 
of  drawers  bigger  than  this  old  one,  and  it  was  polished 
up  finer  and  had  a  looking-glass  on  the  top  yet.  That 
man  must  have  a  lot  of  money  to  give  forty  dollars 
for  one  piece  of  furniture !  Ach  " — in  answer  to  a 


158  PATCHWORK 

remonstrance  from  his  companion — "  they  can't  hear 
me.  I  don't  talk  loud,  and  anyhow,  they're  listening 
to  the  auctioneer.  That  girl  with  him  has  a  funny 
streak  too.  She  bought  the  old  cradle  and  then  I 
heard  her  tell  Hetty  that  she  just  bought  it  for  fun 
and  she  gave  it  to  Hetty.  So,  is  that  man  Phares  Eby 
from  near  Greenwald  ?  Well,  I  thought  he'd  have  too 
much  sense  to  buy  such  a  thing  for  forty  dollars,  but 
some  people  gets  crazy  when  they  get  to  a  sale.  Who 
ever  heard  of  a  person  buying  a  cradle  for  fun  and 
giving  it  away?  But  I  guess  that  cradles  went  out  of 
style  some  time  ago.  My  girl  Lizzie  wasn't  raised 
with  funny  notions  like  some  girls  have  nowadays, 
but  when  she  was  married  and  had  her  first  baby  and 
we  told  her  she  could  borrow  the  old  cradle  she  was 
rocked  in  to  put  her  baby  in,  she  said  she  didn't  want 
it,  for  cradles  ain't  healthy  for  babies,  it  is  bad  to  rock 
babies!  I  guess  that  was  her  man's  dumb  notion,  for 
he's  a  professor  in  the  High  School  where  they  live, 
but  he's  just  Jake  Forney's  John.  They  get  along  fine, 
but  they  do  some  dumb  things.  They  let  that  baby 
yell  till  he  found  out  that  he  wouldn't  get  rocked. 
It  made  her  mom  quite  sick  when  we  were  up  to  visit 
them,  and  sometimes  we'd  sneak  rocking  it  a  little,  just 
so  the  little  fellow'd  know  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
getting  rocked.  They  don't  want  any  person  to  kiss 
that  baby,  neither.  Course  I  ain't  in  favor  of  every- 
body kissing  a  baby,  but  I  can't  see  the  hurt  of  its  own 
people  kissing  it.  We  used  to  take  it  behind  the  door 
and  kiss  it  good,  and  it's  living  yet.  Ain't,  Eph,  it's 
a  wonder  we  ever  growed  up,  the  way  we  were  bounced 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  COUNTRY  SALE   159 

and  rocked  and  joggled  and  kissed!  I  say  it  ain't 
right  to  go  back  on  cradles;  they  belong  to  babies. 
But  look,  Eph,  there  she's  buying  them  old  copper 
sheep  bells!  Wonder  if  she  keeps  sheep." 

Phoebe,  triumphant  bidder  for  a  pair  of  hand-beaten 
copper  sheep  bells,  turned  and  looked  at  the  farmer. 
The  tenderness  of  a  bright  smile  still  played  about  her 
lips  and  the  old  man,  interpreting  the  smile  as  a  per- 
sonal greeting  to  him,  drew  near  and  spoke  to  her. 

"  I  can  tell  you  what  to  take  to  clean  them  bells." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  answered  cordially,  "  but  I  do 
not  want  to  clean  them." 

"  But  you  can  make  them  shiny  if  you  take " 

"  You  are  very  kind,  but  I  really  want  to  keep  them 
just  as  they  are." 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  then  shook 
his  head  as  though  in  perplexity  and  turned  away. 

Several  more  hours  of  vigorous  work  on  the  part  of 
the  noisy  auctioneer  resulted  in  the  sale  of  the  miscel- 
laneous collection  of  articles. 

The  loquacious  old  farmer  was  often  moved  to 
whistle  or  to  emit  a  low  "  Gosh  "  as  the  sale  progressed 
and  seemingly  valueless  articles  were  sold  for  high 
prices.  A  linen  homespun  table-cloth,  woven  in 
geometrical  design,  occasioned  spirited  bidding,  but  the 
man  on  the  box  was  equal  to  the  task  and  closed  the 
bids  at  twenty  dollars.  Homespun  linen  towels  were 
bought  eagerly  for  seven,  eight,  nine  dollars.  A 
genuine  buffalo  robe  was  knocked  down  to  a  bidder  at 
the  price  of  eighty  dollars.  Cups  and  -saucers  and 
plates  sold  for  from  two  to  four  dollars  each.  But 


160  PATCHWORK 

it  was  an  old  blue  glass  bottle  that  provoked  the  great- 
est sensation.  "  Gosh,  who  wants  that?  "  said  the  old 
man  as  the  bottle  was  brought  forth.  "If  he  throws 
a  cup  or  plate  in  with  it  mebbe  somebody  will  give  a 
penny  for  it." 

But  a  moment  later,  as  an  antique  dealer  started  the 
bid  at  a  dollar  the  old  man  spluttered,  "  Jimminy  pats! 
Why,  it's  just  an  old  glass  bottle !  " 

Some  person  enlightened  him — it  was  Stiegel  glass ! 
After  the  first  bid  on  the  bottle  every  one  became  at- 
tentive. The  two  rival  bidders  were  alert  to  every 
move  of  the  auctioneer,  the  bids  leapt  up  and  up — ten 
dollars — eleven  dollars — twelve  dollars — thirteen  dol- 
lars— gone  at  thirteen  dollars ! 

It  was  late  afternoon  when  Phoebe  and  the  preacher 
turned  homeward.  The  preacher's  purchase  had  to  be 
left  at  the  farm  until  he  could  return  for  it  in  the  big 
farm  wagon,  but  Phoebe  thought  of  the  highboy  as 
they  rode  along  the  pleasant  country  roads.  She  re- 
membered the  expression  she  had  caught  on  the  face 
of  Phares  and  the  remembrance  troubled  her.  She 
sought  desperately  for  some  topic  of  conversation  that 
would  lead  the  man's  thoughts  from  the  highboy  and 
prevent  the  return  of  the  mood  she  had  discovered  at 
the  sale. 

"  You — Phares,"  she  began  confusedly,  "  you  are 
going  to  baptize  this  next  time,  Aunt  Maria  thought." 

"  Yes." 

The  preacher  looked  at  the  girl.  The  exhilarating 
influence  of  the  early  June  outdoors  was  visible  in  her 
countenance.  Her  eyes  sparkled,  her  cheeks  glowed — 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  COUNTRY  SALE    161 

she  seemed  the  epitome  of  innocent,  happy  girlhood. 
The  vision  charmed  the  preacher  and  caused  the  blood 
to  course  more  swiftly  through  his  veins,  but  he  bit 
his  lip  and  steadied  his  voice  to  speak  naturally. 
"  Yes,  Phoebe,  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  that." 

"Oh,  dear,"  she  thought,  "now  I  have  done  it! 
Why  did  I  start  him  on  that  subject! "  Some  of  the 
excessive  color  faded  from  her  face  and  she  looked 
ahead  as  he  spoke. 

"  Phcebe,  the  second  Sunday  in  June  I  am  going  to 
baptize  a  number  of  converts  in  the  Chicques  near  your 
home.  Are  you  ready  to  come  with  the  rest,  and  give 
up  the  vanities  of  the  world  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Phares,  why  do  you  ask  me  ?  I  can't  wear 
plain  clothes  while  I  love  pretty  ones.  I  can't  be  a 
hypocrite." 

"  But  surely,  Phcebe,  you  see  that  a  simple  life  is 
more  conducive  to  happiness  than  a  complex,  artificial 
life  can  possibly  be.  It  is  my  duty  to  strive  for  the 
saving  of  souls  and  we  have  been  friends  so  long  that 
I  take  a  special  interest  in  you  and  desire  to  see  you 
safe  in  the  shelter  of  the  Church." 

"  Phares,  I'll  tell  you  frankly,  if  I  ever  wear  plain 
garb  it  will  be  because  I  fed  that  it  is  the  right  thing 
for  me  to  do,  not  because  some  person  persuades 
me  to." 

"  Of  course,  that  is  the  only  way  to '  come.  But 
can't  you  come  now  ?  " 

"  I  can't.  I  hurt  you  when  I  say  that,  but  I  want 
you  to  be  my  good  friend,  as  always,  in  spite  of  my 
worldliness.  Will  you,  Phares  ?  " 


162  PATCHWORK 

He  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  but  she  went  on  quiqjcly: 
"  Because  I  am  learning  every  day  how  much  I  need 
the  help  and  friendship  of  all  my  friends." 

He  longed  to  throw  down  the  reins  he  was  holding 
and  tell  her  what  was  in  his  heart,  but  something  in 
her  manner,  her  peculiar  stress  on  the  word  "  friend- 
ship "  restrained  him.  She  was,  after  all,  only  a 
child.  Only  eighteen — too  young  to  think  of  mar- 
riage. He  could  wait  a  while  longer  before  he  told 
her  of  his  love  and  his  desire  to  marry  her. 

"  I  will,  Phoebe,"  he  promised.  "  I'll  be  your  friend, 
always." 

"  I  thought  so,"  she  breathed  deeply  in  relief.  "  I 
knew  you  wouldn't  fail  me.  Look  at  that  field, 
Phares — oh,  this  is  a  perfect  day!  There  should  be  a 
superlative  form  of  perfect  for  a  day  like  this !  Those 
fields  have  as  many  colors  as  the  shades  reflected  on  a 
copper  plate:  lilac,  tan,  purple,  rose,  green  and  brown." 

The  preacher  answered  a  mere  "  Yes."  She  turned 
again  and  looked  at  the  fields  they  were  passing. 
"  Perhaps,"  she  thought,  "  before  that  corn  is  ripe  I'll 
be  in  Philadelphia ! "  But  she  did  not  utter  the 
thought,  for  she  knew  the  preacher  would  not  approve 
of  her  going  to  the  city.  He  should  know  nothing 
about  it  until  it  was  definitely  settled.  . 

The  thought  of  studying  music  in  Philadelphia  left 
her  restless.  If  only  the  preacher  would  be  more 
talkative ! 

"  It's  just  perfect  to-day,  isn't  it,  Phares  ?  "  she  asked 
radiantly,  resolved  to  make  him  talk.  But  his  an- 
swers were  so  perfunctory  that  she  turned  her  head, 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  COUNTRY  SALE   163 

made  a  little  grimace  through  the  open  side  of  the 
carriage  and  mentally  dubbed  him  "  Bump-on-log." 
Very  well,  if  he  felt  indisposed  to  talk  to  her,  she 
could  enjoy  the  drive  without  his  voice! 

Suddenly  she  laughed  outright. 

"  What "  he  looked  at  her,  puzzled. 

"  What's  funny  ?  "  she  finished.     "  You." 

"I?" 

"  Yes,  you.  If  sales  affect  you  like  this  you  must 
be  careful  to  avoid  them.  You've  been  half  asleep  for 
the  last  half  hour.  I  think  the  horse  knows  the  way 
home;  you  haven't  been  driving  at  all." 

"  I  have  not  been  asleep,"  he  contradicted  gravely, 
"  just  thinking." 

"  Must  be  deep  thoughts." 

"  They  were — shall  I  tell  them  to  you?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  not  to-day!  "  she  cried.  "  I've  had  enough 
excitement  for  one  day.  Some  other  time.  Besides, 
we  are  almost  home." 

After  that  he  threw  off  his  lethargic  manner  and 
entered  the  girl's  mood  of  appreciation  of  the  lavish 
loveliness  of  the  June.  Yet,  as  Phoebe  alighted  from 
the  carriage  at  the  little  gate  of  the  Metz  farm,  and 
after  she  had  thanked  him  and  started  through  the 
yard  to  the  house,  she  said  softly  to  herself,  "  If 
Phares  Eby  isn't  the  queerest  person  I  know!  Just 
like  a  clam  one  minute  and  just  lovely  the  next ! " 

Maria  Metz  was  dishing  a  panful  of  fried  potatoes 
as  Phoebe  entered  the  kitchen. 

"  Hello,  daddy,  Aunt  Maria,"  exclaimed  the  girl. 

"  So  you  come  once  ?  "  said  her  aunt. 


164  PATCHWORK 

"  Have  a  good  time  ?  "  asked  her  father. 

11  Yes,  it  was  a  fine  sale,  a  real  old-fashioned  one." 

But  Aunt  Maria  was  impatient  for  her  supper. 
"  Hurry,"  she  said,  "  and  get  washed  to  eat.  I  have 
everything  out  and  it'll  get  cold,  then  it  ain't  good. 
Did  Phares  like  the  sale  ?  What  did  he  have  to  say  ?  " 

"  Um,  guess  he  liked  it,"  said  the  girl  with  a  shrug 
of  her  shoulders.  "  It's  hard  to  tell  what  he  likes — 
he's  such  a  queer  person.  He  said  he's  going  to  bap- 
tize the  second  Sunday  of  June  and  asked  me  if  I  want 
to  come  with  the  others." 

"  He  did !  "  Aunt  Maria  could  not  keep  the  eager- 
ness out  of  her  voice.  "  Well,  let's  sit  down  and  eat." 

After  a  short  grace  she  turned  to  the  girl.  "  Now 
then,"  she  said  as  she  helped  herself  generously  to 
sausage  and  potatoes  and  handed  the  dishes  across  the 
table  to  Phoebe,  "  tell  us  about  it." 

"  There  isn't  much  to  tell.  I  just  told  him  that  I 
can't  renounce  the  pleasures  of  the  world  before  I  had 
a  chance  to  take  hold  of  them.  I'm  not  ready  yet  to 
dress  plain." 

"  Why  aren't  you  ready?  "  asked  the  woman. 

"Ach,  don't  ask  me,"  Phoebe  replied,  speaking  lightly 
in  an  effort  to  conceal  her  real  feeling.  "  I  just  didn't 
come  to  that  state  yet.  I  want  some  more  fun  and 
pleasure  before  I  think  only  of  serious  things." 

"  You're  just  like  a  big  baby,"  her  aunt  said  im- 
patiently. "You  can  hurt  a  good  man  like  Phares 
Eby  and  come  home  and  laugh  about  it." 

"  Now,  Maria,"  interposed  the  father,  "  let  her 
laugh;  she'll  meet  with  crying  soon  enough,  I  guess." 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  COUNTRY  SALE   165 

But  the  woman  could  not  be  easily  silenced.  "  Some 
day,  Phoebe,  you'll  wish  you'd  been  nicer  to  Phares." 

"  Why,  I  am  nice  to  him." 

"  Well,  anyhow,  I  think  it's  soon  time  you  give  up 
the  world  and  its  vanities,"  said  Aunt  Maria. 

The  girl's  teasing  mood  fled.  "  I  think,"  she  said 
slowly,  "  that  the  plain  dress  should  not  be  worn  by 
any  one  who  does  not  realize  all  that  the  dress  stands 
for.  If  I  ever  turn  plain  I'll  do  so  because  I  feel  it 
is  the  right  thing  to  do,  but  just  now  vanity  and  the 
love  of  pretty  clothes  are  still  in  my  heart." 

After  the  meal  was  over  the  women  washed  the 
dishes  while  Jacob  went  out  to  attend  to  the  evening 
milking.  Later,  when  the  poultry  houses  and  stables 
were  locked  he  returned  to  the  kitchen  and  read  the 
weekly  paper.  After  a  while  he  turned  to  Phoebe. 

"  Will  you  sing  for  me  this  evening?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  came  the  ready  response. 

"  Then  make  the  door  shut,"  Aunt  Maria  directed 
as  they  went  to  the  sitting-room.  "  I  want  to  mark 
my  rug  yet  this  evening  and  your  noise  bothers  me." 


CHAPTER  XI 

"  THE  BRIGHT  LEXICON  OF  YOUTH  " 

"  WHAT  shall  I  sing  ?  "  Phoebe  asked  as  her  father 
sank  into  the  big  rocker  and  she  took  her  place  at  the 
low  organ. 

"Ach,  anything,"  he  replied. 

She  smiled,  turned  the  pages  of  an  old  music  book, 
and  began  to  sing,  "Annie  Laurie."  Her  father 
nodded  approval  and  smiled  when  she  followed  that 
with  several  other  old-time  favorites.  Then  she  hesi- 
tated a  moment,  a  low  melody  came  from  the  organ, 
and  the  words  of  the  beautiful  lullaby  fell  from  her 
lips: 

"  Sweet  and  low,  sweet  and  low, 

Wind  of  the  western  sea ; 
Low,  low, — breathe  and  blow, 

Wind  of  the  western  sea ; 
Over  the  rolling  waters  go, 
Come  from  the  dying  moon  and  blow, 

Blow  him  again  to  me, 
While  my  little  one,  while  my  pretty 
one  sleeps." 

Phoebe  sang  the  lullaby  as  gently  as  if  a  tiny  head 
were  nestled  against  her  bosom.  She  had  within  her, 
as  has  every  normal,  unspoiled  woman,  the  loving  im- 
pulses and  yearning  tenderness  of  motherhood.  Her 


"  THE  BRIGHT  LEXICON  OF  YOUTH  "    167 

womanhood's  star  of  hope  shone  brightly,  though  from 
a  great  distance;  she  devoutly  hoped  for  the  fulfillment 
of  her  destiny,  but  always  dreamed  of  it  coming  in 
some  time  far  removed  from  the  present.  Wifehood 
and  motherhood — that  was  her  goal,  but  long  years  of 
other  joys  and  other  achievements  stretched  between. 
Yet  she  felt  an  incomparable  joy  as  she  sang  the 
lullaby.  She  sang  it  easily  and  sweetly  and  uttered 
each  word  with  the  freedom  of  one  to  whom  music  is 
second  nature. 

To  the  man  who  listened  memory  drew  aside  the 
curtains  of  twenty  years.  He  beheld  again  the  sweet- 
faced  wife  glorified  with  the  blessed  halo  of  mother- 
hood. He  thrilled  at  the  remembrance  of  her  intense 
rapture  as  she  clasped  her  babe  in  moments  of  vivid 
ecstasy,  or  held  it  tenderly  in  her  arms  as  she  sang 
the  slumber  song..  The  man  was  lost  in  revery — the 
sweet  voice  of  the  mother  had  suddenly  grown  weak 
and  drifted  into  silence — a  silence  which  would  have 
been  intolerable  save  for  the  lisping  of  a  child  voice 
that  was  filled  with  the  same  indefinable  sweetness  the 
treasured,  silenced  voice  had  possessed.  In  those  first 
days  of  bereavement  Jacob  Metz  had  clung  to  his 
motherless  babe  for  comfort;  her  love  and  caresses 
had  renewed  his  strength  and  touched  him  with  a 
divine  sense  of  his  responsibility.  His  toil-hardened 
hands  could  not  do  the  mother's  tasks  for  her  but  his 
heart  could  love  sufficiently  to  recompense,  so  far  as 
that  be  possible,  for  the  loss  of  the  mother's  presence. 
His  own  childhood  had  been  stripped  of  all  romance, 
hence  he  could  not  measure  the  value  of  the  innocent 


168  PATCHWORK 

pleasures  of  which  Aunt  Maria,  in  her  stern  and  nar- 
row discipline,  deprived  the  little  girl;  but  so  far  as 
he  saw  the  light  and  so  far  as  he  was  able,  he  quietly 
soothed  where  Aunt  Maria  irritated,  and  mitigated  by 
his  interest  and  sympathy  the  sternness  of  the  woman's 
rule. 

A  fleeting  retrospect  of  the  past  years  crowded  upon 
him  as  he  heard  Phoebe  sing  the  mother's  song.  The 
two  voices  seemed  strangely  merged  and  blended ;  when 
she  ended  and  turned  her  face  to  him  she  seemed  the 
vivid  reincarnation  of  that  other  Phoebe. 

"  That's  a  pretty  song,  isn't  it,  daddy  ?  You 
like  it?" 

"  Yes.    Your  mom  used  to  sing  you  to  sleep  with  it." 

"  I  wish  I  could  remember.  I  can't  remember  her 
at  all,"  the  girl  said  wistfully. 

"  I  wish  you  could,  too.  You  look  just  like  her. 
I'm  glad  you  do.  We  Metz  people  all  have  the  black 
hair  and  dark  eyes  but  you  have  your  mom's  light  hair 
and  blue  eyes.  I  see  her  every  time  I  look  at  you." 

She  seated  herself  near  him.  In  a  moment  he  spoke 
again,  very  deliberately,  with  his  characteristic  express- 
iveness : 

"  Phcebe,  I  want  you  to  know  more  about  your  mom. 
You  know  she  was  plain,  a  member  of  our  Church.  I 
would  like  you  to  dress  like  she  did  but  I  don't  want 
you  to  dress  that  way  and  then  be  dissatisfied  and  go 
back  to  the  dress  of  the  world.  Not  many  people  do 
that,  but  those  that  do  are  the  laughing-stock  of  the 
world.  I  don't  want  you  coaxed  to  be  plain  and  then 
not  stay  plain.  I  tell  you  this  because  I  can  see  that 


"THE  BRIGHT  LEXICON  OF  YOUTH"    169 

you  are  just  like  your  mom  was,  you  like  pretty  things 
so  much.  She  came  in  the  Church  with  some  girls 
she  knew ;  none  of  her  people  were  plain.  I  knew  her 
right  after  she  joined,  and  I  took  her  to  Love  Feasts 
and  to  Meetings  and  we  were  soon  promised  to  marry 
each  other.  I  saw  that  something  was  troubling  her 
and  she  told  me  that  she  wanted  pretty  clothes  again 
and  wanted  to  go  to  parties  and  picnics  like  some  of  the 
other  girls  she  knew.  But  because  she  cared  for  me 
and  was  promised  to  me  she  kept  on  dressing  plain. 
So  we  were  married.  The  second  year  you  came  and 
then  she  was  satisfied  without  pretty  dresses.  She 
said  to  me  once,  '  Jacob,  I  was  foolish  to  fret  about 
pretty  clothes  and  jewelry,  they  could  not  bring  happi- 
ness, but  this  ' — she  looked  down  at  you — '  this  is  the 
most  precious,  most  beautiful  jewel  any  woman  could 
have.'  I  knew  then  that  the  love  of  vanity  was  gone 
from  her,  that  she  would  never  be  tempted  to  go  back 
to  the  dress  and  ways  of  the  world." 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence  in  the  big  room. 
The  memory  of  the  days  when  the  home  circle  was 
unbroken  left  the  father  quiet  and  thoughtful  and 
strangely  touched  Phoebe. 

"  I  am  glad  you  told  me,  daddy,"  she  said  pres- 
ently. "  To-day  when  Phares  talked  about  the  bap- 
tizing he  seemed  so  confident  and  at  peace  in  his  re- 
ligion, yet  I  could  not  promise  to  come  into  the 
Church  and  wear  the  plain  dress.  I  am  going  to 
think  about  it " 

Here  Aunt  Maria  called  loudly,  "  Phoebe,  come  out 
here  once." 


i  yo  PATCHWORK 

Phoebe  sighed,  then  turned  from  her  father  and 
entered  the  kitchen.  The  older  woman  was  bending 
over  an  oblong  frame  and  by  the  aid  of  a  small  steel 
hook  was  pulling  tufts  of  cloth  through  the  mesh  of  a 
piece  of  burlap,  the  foundation  of  a  hooked  rug. 

"  See  once,  Phoebe,  won't  this  be  pretty  till  it's 
done?" 

"  Yes,  very  pretty.  I  like  the  Wall  of  Troy  design 
you  are  using,  and  the  blues  and  gray  will  be  a 
good  combination.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with 
it?" 

"  It's  for  your  chest." 

The  girl  laughed.  "Aunt  Maria,  you'll  have  to 
enlarge  that  chest  or  buy  a  second  one.  This  spring 
when  we  cleaned  house  and  had  all  the  things  of  that 
chest  hung  out  to  air,  I  counted  eleven  quilts,  six  rugs, 
five  table-cloths,  ten  gingham  aprons,  ever  so  many 
towels,  besides  all  the  old  homespun  linen  I  have  in 
that  other  chest  on  the  garret.  I'll  never  need  all 
that." 

"  Why,  you  don't  know.     If  you  marry " 

"But  if  I  don't  marry?" 

"Ach,  I  guess  old  maids  need  covers  and  aprons 
and  things  as  well  as  them  that  marry.  But  now  I 
guess  I'll  stop  for  to-night.  I  want  to  sew  the  hooks 
V  eyes  on  my  every-day  dress  yet  before  I  go  to 
bed." 

"  But  before  you  go  I  want  to  ask  you,  to  talk  with 
you  and  daddy,  "  said  Phoebe,  determined  to  decide  the 
matter  of  studying  music  in  Philadelphia.  The  un- 
certainty of  it  was  growing  to  be  a  strain  upon  her.  If 


"THE  BRIGHT  LEXICON  OF  YOUTH"    171 

there  was  no  possibility  of  her  dreams  becoming 
realities  she  would  put  the  thoughts  away  from  her, 
but  she  wanted  the  question  settled. 

"  Now  what "  Aunt  Maria  raised  her  spec- 
tacles to  her  forehead  and  looked  at  the  girl,  at  her 
flushed  cheeks,  her  eyes  darkened  by  excitement. 

"  So,"  the  woman  chuckled,  "  Phares  picked  up 
spunk  once  and  asked  you " 

"  Phares  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  Phoebe  said 
curtly,  her  cheeks  flushing  deeper  at  the  thought  of  the 
words  she  knew  her  aunt  was  ready  to  say.  "  This  is 
my  affair,  and,  of  course,  yours  and  daddy's."  She 
turned  to  her  father — "  I  want  to  study  music." 

"  Music  ?  How — you  mean  to  learn  to  play  the 
organ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No.  Oh,  no !  I  mean  to  sing.  Listen,  please," 
she  pleaded  as  she  saw  the  bewildered  look  on  his 
face.  "  You  know  I  have  always  liked  to  sing.  I 
have  told  you  that  many  people  have  said  my  voice 
is  good.  So  I'd  like  to  go  to  Philadelphia  and  take 
lessons  from  a  good  teacher.  May  I  ?  I  can  use  the 
money  I  have  in  bank,  that  my  mother  left  me.  I 
have  about  a  thousand  dollars.  It  won't  take  all  of 
that  for  a  few  years'  lessons.  Daddy,  if  you'll  only 
say  I  may  go ! "  Her  voice  wavered  suspiciously  at 
the  end. 

Jacob  Metz  looked  at  his  daughter,  then  at  the  little 
low  organ  in  the  other  room.  Another  Phoebe  had 
loved  to  sit  at  that  instrument  and  sing — perhaps  he 
was  too  easy  with  the  girl — but  if  she  wanted  to  go 
away  and  take  lessons «  ,**  • 


1 72  PATCHWORK 

Before  he  could  answer  the  plea  Maria  Metz  found 
her  voice  and  spoke  authoritatively: 

"  Jacob  Metz,  goodness  knows  you're  sometimes 
dumb  enough  to  do  foolish  things,  but  you  surely  ain't 
goin'  to  leave  Phoebe  go  off  to  learn  singing !  Throw- 
ing away  money  like  that !  And  what  good  is  to  come 
of  it,  I'd  like  to  know.  Who  put  that  dumb  notion 
in  her  head,  it  just  now  venders  me!  If  she  must  go 
away  somewheres  to  school,  like  all  the  young  ones 
think  they  must  nowadays,  why  not  leave  her  go  to 
Millersville  or  to  Elizabethtown  or  to  Lancaster  to 
learn  dressmakin'?  But  to  Philadelphy — why,  that's 
a  big  city!  Anyhow,  I  can't  see  the  use  of  all  this 
flyin'  around  to  school.  We  didn't  get  it  when  we 
was  young,  and  we  growed  up,  too.  We  was  lucky 
if  we  got  to  the  country  school  regular,  and  we  got 
through  the  world  so  far !  " 

"  But  Maria,"  her  brother  spoke  gently,  "  you  know 
things  have  changed  since  we  went  to  school.  The 
world  don't  stay  the  same." 

"  But  to  learn  music !  "  she  placed  a  scornful  accent 
on  the  last  word.  "What  good  will  that  do?  And 
can't  any  one  in  Greenwald  or  Lancaster,  even,  learn 
her  to  sing?  Anyhow,  she  don't  need  no  lessons,  she 
hollers  too  loud  already.  If  she  takes  lessons  yet 
what'llshedo?" 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Maria,"  Phoebe  said  impatiently,  "  you 
don't  understand!  If  my  voice  is  worth  training  it  is 
worth  having  a  good  teacher.  A  city  like  Philadel- 
phia is  the  place  to  go  to." 

"  But  where  would  you  stay  down  there  ?     Mebbe 


"THE  BRIGHT  LEXICON  OF  YOUTH"    173 

you  couldn't  get  a  place  with  nice  people.  Abody  don't 
know  what  kinda  people  live  in  a  city." 

"  I've  thought  of  that.  I  wrote  to  Miss  Lee  last 
week  and  asked  her  and  she  wrote  back  and  said  it 
would  be  a  splendid  thing  for  me.  She  offered  to 
help  me  find  a  boarding  place.  I  could  see  her  often 
and  would  not  be  alone  among  strangers.  Best  of  all, 
Miss  Lee  has  a  cousin  who  plays  the  violin  and  who 
lives  with  her  and  her  mother  and  he  will  help  me  find 
a  good  teacher.  Isn't  that  lovely?  " 

"Omph,"  sniffed  Aunt  Maria.  "It'll  cost  you  a 
lot  of  money  for  board,  mebbe  as  much  as  four  dollars 
a  week !  And  your  lessons  will  be  a  lot,  and  your  car 
fare  back  and  forth.  Then  I  guess  you'd  want  a  lot 
more  dresses  and  things — ach,  you  just  put  that  dumb 
notion  from  your  head." 

"  Maria,"  Phoebe's  father  spoke  in  significantly  even 
tones,  "  you  needn't  talk  like  that.  Phoebe  has  the 
money  her  mom  left  her  and  I  guess  I  could  send  her 
to  school  if  I  wanted  to.  It  won't  hurt  her  to  go  study 
music  and  see  something  of  the  world.  It'll  do  her 
good  to  get  away  once  like  other  girls." 

"  Do  her  good,"  echoed  Aunt  Maria.  "  Jacob 
Metz!  You  know  little  of  the  dangers  of  the 
big  cities!  But  then,  men  ain't  got  no  sense!  I 
never  met  one  yet  that  had  enough  to  fill  a  thim- 
ble!" 

"Aunt  Maria,"  the  girl  said  gently,  "  I'm  not  a 
child.  I'm  eighteen  and  I'll  be  near  Miss  Lee  and  her 
friends." 

"And  the  fiddler,"  added  the  woman  tartly. 


174  PATCHWORK 

"Ach,"  Phoebe  laughed.  "  Miss  Lee  will  take  care 
of  me." 

"  Mebbe  so,"  grumbled  Aunt  Maria. 

"  Now  look  here,  Maria,"  Jacob  spoke  up,  "  Phoebe 
can  go  this  fall  once  and  try  it  and  she  can  come  home 
often  and  if  she  don't  like  it  she  can  come  home  right 
away.  It  takes  only  three  hours  to  go  to  there.  So, 
Phoebe,  you  write  to  Miss  Lee  and  tell  her  to  expect 
you." 

"  Then  I  may  go !  "  She  threw  her  arms  about  her 
father's  neck  and  kissed  his  bearded  face.  Demon- 
strations of  affection  were  rare  in  the  Metz  house- 
hold, but  the  father  smiled  as  he  stroked  the  girl's 
hair. 

"  You  be  a  good  girl,  Phoebe,  that's  all  I  want,"  he 
said. 

"I  will,  daddy,  I  will!" 

"  Then,  Maria,  you  take  Phoebe  to  Lancaster  and 
get  things  ready  so  she  can  go  in  September.  I'll  let 
her  take  that  thousand  she  has  in  the  bank,  but  that 
must  reach ;  it's  enough  for  music  lessons." 

"  I  won't  need  all  of  it.  What's  left  I'll  save  for 
next  year." 

"  Next  year !  How  many  years  must  you  go  ?  "  de- 
manded Aunt  Maria,  still  unhappy  and  sore. 

"  I  don't  know.  But  when  the  thousand  is  gone 
I'll  earn  more  if  I  want  to  spend  more." 

"Ach,  my,"  groaned  the  woman,  "  you  talk  like 
money  grew  on  trees!  What's  the  world  comin'  to 
nowadays  ?  "  She  rose  and  pushed  her  rugging  frame 
into  a  corner  of  the  kitchen. 


"THE  BRIGHT  LEXICON  OF  YOUTH"    175 

"  Maria,"  her  brother  suggested,  "  we  can  get  a 
hired  girl  if  the  work's  too  much  for  you  alone." 

"Hired  girl!  I  don't  want  no  hired  girl!  Half 
of  'em  don't  do  to  suit,  anyhow!  I  don't  just  want 
Phoebe  here  to  help  to  work.  It'll  be  awful  lonesome 
with  her  gone." 

Phoebe  saw  the  glint  of  anguish  in  the  dark  eyes  and 
felt  that  her  aunt's  protestations  were  partly  due  to  a 
disinclination  to  be  parted  from  the  child  she  had 
reared. 

"Aunt  Maria,"  she  said  kindly,  "  I  hate  to  do  what 
you  think  I  shouldn't  do,  for  you're  good  to  me. 
You  mustn't  feel  that  I'm  doing  this  just  to  be  con- 
trary. You  and  I  think  differently,  that's  all.  Per- 
haps I'm  too  young  to  always  think  right,  but  I  don't 
want  you  to  be  hurt.  I'll  come  home  often." 

"Ach,  yes  well,"  the  woman  was  touched  by  the 
girl's  tenderness,  but  was  still  unconvinced.  "  Not 
much  use  my  saying  more,  I  guess.  You  and  your 
pop  will  do  what  you  like.  You're  a  Metz,  too,  and 
hard  to  change  when  you  make  up  your  mind  once." 
_That  night  when  Phoebe  went  to  bed  in  her  old- 
fashioned  walnut  bed  she  lay  awake  for  hours,  dream- 
ing of  the  future.  If  Aunt  Maria  had  known  the 
visions  that  flitted  before  the  girl  that  night  she  would 
have  quaked  in  apprehension,  for  Phoebe  finally  drifted 
into  slumber  on  clouds  of  glory,  forecasts  of  the 
wonderful  time  when,  as  a  prima  donna  in  trailing, 
shimmering  gown,  she  would  have  the  world  at  her 
feet  while  she  sang,  sang,  sang! 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  PREACHER'S  WOOING 

THERE  belonged  to  the  Metz  farm  an  old  stone 
quarry  which  Phoebe  learned  to  love  in  early  child- 
hood and  which,  as  she  grew  older,  she  adopted  as  her 
refuge  and  dreaming-place. 

Almost  directly  opposite  the  green  gate  at  the 
country  road  was  a  narrow  lane  which  led  to  the 
quarry.  It  was  bordered  on  the  right  by  a  thickly  in- 
terlaced hedge  of  blackberry  bushes  and  wild  honey- 
suckle, beyond  which  stood  the  orchard  of  the  Metz 
farm.  On  the  left  of  the  lane  a  wide  field  sloped  up 
along  the  road  leading  to  the  summit  of  the  hill  where 
the  schoolhouse  and  the  meeting-house  stood.  The 
lane  was  always  inviting.  It  was  the  fair  road  to  a 
fairer  spot,  the  old  stone  quarry. 

The  old  stone  quarry  banked  its  rugged  height 
against  the  side  of  a  great  wooded  hill.  Some  twenty 
feet  below  the  level  of  the  lane  was  a  huge  semicircular 
base,  and  from  this  the  jagged  sides  reared  perpen- 
dicularly to  the  summit  of  the  hill.  The  top  and 
slopes  of  this  hill  were  covered  with  a  dense  growth 
of  underbrush  and  trees.  Tall  sycamores  bordered 
the  road  opposite  the  quarry,  making  the  spot  sheltered 
and  secluded. 


THE  PREACHER'S  WOOING  177 

To  this  place  Phoebe  hurried  the  morning  after  she 
had  gained  her  father's  consent  to  go  to  Philadelphia. 

"  I  just  had  to  come  here,"  she  breathed  raptur- 
ously ;  "  the  house  is  too  narrow,  the  garden  too  small, 
this  June  morning.  They  won't  hold  my  dreams." 

She  stood  under  the  giant  sycamore  opposite  the 
quarry  and  looked  appreciatively  about  her.  Earth's 
warm,  throbbing  bosom  thrilled  with  the  universal  joy 
of  parentage  and  fruition.  Shafts  of  sunlight  shot 
through  the  green  of  the  trees,  odors  of  wild  flowers 
mingled  with  the  fresh,  woodsy  fragrance  of  the 
fields  and  woods,  song  sparrows  flitted  busily  among 
the  hedges  and  sang  their  delicious,  "  Maids,  maids, 
maids,  hang  on  your  tea  kettle-ettle-ettle !  "  From  the 
densest  portions  of  the  woods  above  the  quarry  a 
thrush  sang — all  nature  seemed  atune  with  Phoebe's 
mood,  blithe,  happy,  joyous! 

Phares  Eby,  going  to  town  that  morning,  walked 
slowly  as  he  neared  the  Metz  farm  and  looked  for  a 
glimpse  of  Phoebe.  He  saw,  instead,  the  portly  figure 
of  Aunt  Maria  as  she  walked  about  her  garden  to  see 
the  progress  of  her  early  June  peas. 

"  Why,  Phares,"  she  called,  "  you  goin'  to  Green- 
wald?" 

"  Yes.     Anything  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

"Ach  no.  Phcebe  was  in  the  other  day.  But  come 
in  once,  Phares,  I'll  tell  you  something  about 
her." 

"  Where  is  Phoebe  ?  "  he  asked  as  he  joined  Aunt 
Maria  in  the  garden. 

"Over  at  the  quarry  again.     But  I  must  tell  you, 


178  PATCHWORK 

she's  goin'  to  Phildelphy  to  study  singin'.  She  asked 
her  pop  and  he  said  she  dare." 

"  Philadelphia — singing !  " 

"  Yes.  I  don't  like  it  at  all,  but  she's  goin'  just  the 
same." 

"  It  is  a  mistake  to  let  her  go,"  said  the  preacher. 
"  It's  a  big  mistake,  Aunt  Maria.  She  should  stay  at 
home  or  go  to  some  school  and  learn  something  of 
value  to  her.  In  this  quiet  place  she  has  never  heard 
of  many  temptations  which,  in  the  city,  she  must  meet 
face  to  face.  It  is  the  voice  of  the  Tempter  urging 
her  to  do  this  thing  and  we  who  are  her  friends  should 
persuade  her  to  remain  in  her  good  home  and  near  the 
friends  who  care  for  her.  Have  you  thought,  Aunt 
Maria,  that  the  people  to  whom  she  will  go  may  dance 
and  play  cards  and  do  many  worldly  things?  Phila- 
delphia is  very  different  from  Greenwald.  Why,  she 
may  learn  to  indulge  in  worldly  amusements  and  to 
love  the  vanities  of  the  world  which  we  have  tried  to 
teach  her  to  avoid !  She  will  be  like  a  bird  in  a  strange 
nest." 

"  I  know,  Phares,  but  I  can't  make  it  different. 
When  Jacob  says  a  thing  once  it's  hard  to  change  him, 
and  she  is  like  that  too.  They  fixed  it  up  last  night 
and  I  had  no  say  at  all.  All  I  said  against  her  going 
did  as  much  good  as  if  I  said  it  to  the  chairs  in  the 
kitchen.  Phoebe  is  going  to  get  Miss  Lee,  the  one 
that  was  teacher  on  the  hill  once,  to  help  her.  And 
Miss  Lee  has  a  cousin  that  lives  with  her  and  he 
plays  the  fiddle  and  he  is  goin'  to  get  a  teacher  for 
her." 


THE  PREACHER'S  WOOING  179 

Phares  Eby  groaned  and  gritted  his  teeth. 

"  I  guess  I'll  go  talk  with  her  a  while,"  he  decided. 

"  Mebbe  she'll  come  in  soon,  if  you  want  to  wait. 
I  told  her  to  bring  me  some  pennyroyal  along  from  the 
field  next  the  quarry.  You  know  that's  so  good  for 
them  little  red  ants,  and  they  got  into  my  jelly  cup- 
board. She  went  a  while  ago  and  I  guess  she'll  soon 
be  back  now." 

"  I  think  I'll  walk  over." 

"All  right,  Phares.  Tell  her  not  to  forget  the 
pennyroyal." 

With  long  strides  the  preacher  crossed  the  road  and 
started  up  the  lane  to  the  quarry.  There  he  slackened 
his  pace — he  thought  of  the  previous  day  when  he  had 
asked  Phoebe  about  entering  the  Church.  She  had 
disappointed  him,  it  was  true,  but  she  had  seemed  so 
eager  to  do  right,  so  innocent  and  childlike,  that  the 
interview  had  not  left  him  wholly  unhappy  or  greatly 
discouraged.  He  had  hoped  last  night  that  she  would 
give  the  matter  of  her  soul's  salvation  serious  thought, 
that  she  would  soon  stand  in  the  stream  and  be  bap- 
tized by  him.  Over  sanguine  he  had  been — so  soon 
she  had  forgotten  serious  things  and  planned  a  winter 
in  Philadelphia  studying  music. 

"  I  must  act,"  he  thought.  "  I  must  tell  her  of  my 
love.  AH  these  years  I  have  loved  her  and  kept  silent 
about  it  because  I  thought  she  was  just  a  child.  But 
I  must  tell  her  now.  If  she  loves  me  she  shall  marry 
me  soon  and  this  great  temptation  will  leave  her;  she 
will  hearken  to  the  voice  of  her  conscience,  and  we  will 
begin  our  life  of  happiness  together." 


i8o  PATCHWORK 

With  this  resolution  strong  within  him  he  went  up 
the  lane  to  the  quarry  and  Phoebe. 

She  was  seated  on  a  rock  under  the  giant  sycamore 
and  leaned  confidingly  against  the  shaggy  trunk. 
The  glaring  sunshine  that  fell  upon  the  fields  and 
hills  could  not  wholly  penetrate  the  protecting 
canopy  of  well-proportioned  sycamore  leaves;  only 
a  few  quivering  rays  fell  upon  the  girl's  upturned 
face. 

As  the  preacher  approached  she  looked  around 
quickly  but  did  not  move  from  her  caressing  attitude 
by  the  tree. 

"  Good-morning,  Phares.  I'm  glad  you  came.  I 
was  wishing  for  some  one  to  share  the  old  quarry  with 
me  this  morning." 

"Aunt  Maria  told  me  you  were  here — she  is  im- 
patient for  her  pennyroyal."  Now,  that  the  supreme 
moment  had  arrived,  he  hesitated  and  grasped  at  the 
first  straw  for  conversation. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  she  said  childishly,  "Aunt  Maria  ex- 
pects me  to  remember  ants  and  pennyroyal  when  I 
come  here.  Phares,  I  can't  explain  it,  but  this  old 
quarry  has  a  strange  fascination  for  me.  The  beauty 
in  its  variegated  stone  with  the  sunlight  upon  it  at- 
tracts me.  Sometimes  I  am  tempted  to  climb  up  the 
hill  and  hang  over  the  quarry  and  look  down  into  the 
heart  of  it." 

"  Don't  ever  do  that !  "  cried  the  preacher. 

"  I  won't,"  laughed  Phoebe.  "  I  don't  want  to  die 
just  yet.  But  isn't  it  the  loveliest  place !  I  come  here 
often  when  the  men  are  not  blasting.  It  seems  almost 


THE  PREACHER'S  WOOING  181 

a  desecration  to  blast  these  rocks  when  we  think  how 
long  nature  took  in  their  making." 

She  paused  .  .  .  only  the  sounds  of  nature  in- 
vaded the  quiet  of  the  place:  the  drowsy  hum  of  dili- 
gent bees,  the  cattle  browsing  in  a  field  near  by,  the 
esctatic  trill  of  a  bird.  The  world  of  bustle  and  flurry 
with  its  seething  vats  of  evil  and  corruption,  its  sordid 
discontent  and  petulance,  its  ways  of  pain  and  dark- 
ness, seemed  far  removed  from  that  place  of  peace  and 
calm  solitude.  Phoebe  could  not  bear  to  think  that 
across  the  seas  men  were  lying  in  the  filth  of  water- 
soaked  trenches,  agonizing  and  bleeding  on  the  battle- 
fields and  suffering  nameless  tortures  in  hospitals  that 
a  peace  like  unto  the  peace  of  her  quiet  haven  might 
brood  undisturbed  over  the  world  in  future  genera- 
tions. She  dismissed  the  harrowing  thought  of  war — 
she  would  enjoy  the  calm  of  her  quarry. 

The  preacher  had  listened  silently  to  the  girl's 
rhapsodies — she  suddenly  awakened  to  the  realization 
that  he  was  paying  scant  attention  to  her  enthusiastic 
words.  She  looked  at  him,  her  heart-beats  quickened, 
some  intuition  warned  her  of  the  imminent  declara- 
tion. 

She  rose  quickly  from  the  embrace  of  the  sycamore 
tree,  but  the  compelling  eyes  of  the  preacher  restrained 
her  from  flight.  She  stood  before  him,  witHn  reach 
of  his  hands. 

His  first  words  reassured  her  somewhat:  "  Phoebe, 
your  aunt  has  told  me  that  you  are  going  to  Philadel- 
phia to  study  music." 

"Yes.     Isn't    it    fine!     I'm    so    happy "    she 


182  PATCHWORK 

stopped.  Displeasure  was  written  plainly  upon  his 
countenance.  "  Don't  you  think  it's  all  right,  Phares  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  a  great  mistake,"  he  said  gravely. 
"  Why  not  spend  your  time  on  something  of  value  to 
yourself  and  your  friends  and  the  world  in  general?  " 

"  But  music  is  of  great  value.  Why,  the  world 
needs  it  as  it  needs  sunshine !  " 

"  But,  Phoebe,  you  must  remember  you  do  not  come 
of  a  people  who  stand  before  the  worldly  and  lift  their 
voices  for  the  joy  of  the  multitude  of  curious  people. 
Your  voice  is  right  as  it  is  and  needs  no  training.  It 
is  as  God  gave  it  to  you  and  is  made  to  be  used  in  His 
service,  in  His  Church  and  your  home." 

"  But  I  have  always  wanted  to  learn  to  sing  well, 
really  well.  So  I  am  going  to  Philadelphia  this  winter 
and  take  lessons  from  a  competent  teacher." 

"  Phoebe,"  exhorted  the  preacher,  "  put  away  the 
temptation  before  it  grips  you  so  strongly  that  you 
cannot  shake  it  off.  You  must  not  go !  " 

He  spoke  the  last  words  in  a  tone  of  authority  which 
the  girl  answered,  "  Phares,  let  us  speak  of  something 
else.  You  know  I  have  some  of  the  Metz  determina- 
tion in  my  make-up  and  I  can't  be  easily  forced  to  give 
up  a  cherished  plan.  At  any  rate,  we  must  not  quarrel 
about  it." 

The  preacher  forbore  to  try  further  argument  or 
persuasion.  He  became  grave.  His  habitual  serenity 
of  mind  was  disturbed  by  shadowy  forebodings — when 
the  pebbles  of  doubt  drop  into  the  placid  pool  of  con- 
tent it  invariably  follows  that  the  waters  become  agi- 
tated for  a  time.  Hitherto  he  had  been  hopeful  of 


THE  PREACHER'S  WOOING  183 

winning  Phoebe.  Had  he  not  known  her  and  loved 
her  all  her  life!  What  was  more  natural  than  that 
their  friendship  should  culminate  in  a  deeper  feeling! 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  in  a  sudden  rush  of  feel- 
ing— "  Phoebe,  I  love  you." 

She  stepped  back  a  pace  and  his  hand  fell  to  his 
side. 

"  Don't,  Phares,"  she  began,  but  the  next  moment 
she  realized  that  she  could  not  turn  aside  his  love 
without  listening  to  him. 

"  Phoebe,  you  must  listen — I  love  you,  I  have  loved 
you  all  my  life.  Can't  you  say  that  you  care  for  me  ?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me  mat !  "  she  pleaded.  "  I  don't  want 
to  marry  anybody  now.  All  my  life  I  have  dreamed 
of  going  to  a  city  and  studying  music  and  I  can't  let 
the  opportunity  slip  away  from  me  now  when  it  is  so 
near.  To  work  under  the  direction  of  a  master 
teacher  has  long  been  one  of  my  dearest  dreams." 

"  You  mean  that  you  do  not  love  me,  then.  Or  if 
you  do,  that  you  'would  rather  gratify  your  desire  to 
study  music  than  marry  me — which  is  it  ?  " 

"Ach,  Phares,  don't  make  it  hard  for  me!  I  said 
I  don't  want  to  get  married  now.  All  my  life  I  have 
lived  on  a  farm  and  have  thought  that  I  should  be 
wonderfully  happy  if  I  could  get  away  from  it  for  a 
while  and  know  what  it  is  to  live  in  a  big  city.  There 
I  shall  have  a  chance  to  see  life  in  its  broader  aspects. 
I  shall  not  be  harmed  by  gathering  new  ideas  and 
ideals,  gaining  new  friends,  and,  above  all,  learning  to 
sing  well." 

The  man  groaned  in  spirit.     It  was  evident  that  she 


i84  PATCHWORK 

was  thoroughly  determined  to  go  away  from  the 
farm. 

"  Phoebe,"  he  pleaded  again,  not  entirely  for  .his  own 
selfish  desire,  but  worried  about  her  love  of  worldli- 
ness,  "  do  you  know  that  the  things  for  which  you  are 
going  to  the  city  are  really  not  important,  that  all 
outward  acquisitions  for  which  you  long  now  are 
transient?  The  things  that  count  are  goodness  and 
purity  and  to  be  without  them  is  to  be  pauperized ;  the 
things  that  bring  happiness  are  love  and  home  ties  and 
to  be  without  them  is  to  be  desolate.  You  want  a 
larger,  broader  vision,  but  the  city  cannot  always  give 
you  that." 

There  was  no  bitterness  in  his  voice,  only  an  under- 
tone of  sadness  as  he  spoke.  "  Phoebe,  tell  me  plainly, 
do  you  care  for  me  ?  " 

Her  face  was  lamentably  pathetic  as  she  looked  into 
his  and  read  there  the  desire  for  what  she  could  not 
give.  "  Not  as  you  wish,"  she  said  softly.  "  But  I 
don't  really  know  what  love  is  yet,  I  haven't  thought 
about  it  except  as  something  that  will  come  to  me  some 
day,  a  long  time  from  now.  There  are  too  many  other 
things  I  must  think  about  now.  When  I  am  through 
studying  music  I'll  think  about  being  married." 

The  preacher  shook  his  head;  his  heart  was  too 
heavy  for  more  words,  more  futile  words. 

"  Let  us  go,  Phares,"  she  said,  the  silence  becoming 
intolerable. 

"  Yes,"  he  agreed.  "  And  Phoebe,"  he  added  as  they 
turned  away  from  the  quarry,  "  I  hope  you'll  learn 
your  lesson  quickly  and  come  back  to  us." 


THE  PREACHER'S  WOOING  185 

They  stepped  from  the  sheltered  path  into  the  sun- 
shine of  the  lane.  Long  trails  of  green  lay  in  their 
path  as  they  went,  but  the  eyes  of  both  were  tempo- 
rarily blinded  to  the  loveliness  of  the  June.  When 
they  reached  the  dusty  road  the  preacher  said  good-bye 
and  went  on  his  way  to  the  town. 

She  stood  where  he  left  her ;  the  suppressed  feelings 
of  the  past  half  hour  soon  struggled  to  avenge  them- 
selves and  she  sped  down  the  lane  again,  back  to  the 
refuge  of  the  kindly  tree,  and  there,  under  her  syca- 
more, burst  into  passionate  weeping. 

Some  time  after  Phares  left  the  girl  at  the  end  of 
the  lane  David  Eby  came  swinging  down  the  hill  and 
entered  the  Metz  kitchen. 

"  Hello,  Aunt  Maria.     Where's  Phoebe?  " 

"  Why,  I  guess  over  at  the  quarry.  She  went  for 
pennyroyal  long  ago  and  then  Phares  came  and  he 
went  over  after  her,  but  I  saw  him  go  on  the  way  to 
town  a  bit  ago,  so  I  guess  she's  still  over  there. 
Guess  she's  stumbling  around  after  a  bird's  nest  or 
picking  some  weeds  that  ain't  no  good.  I  don't  see 
why  she  stays  so  long." 

"  I'll  go  see,"  volunteered  David. 

"  Yes  well.  And  tell  her  to  hurry  with  that  penny- 
royal. I  want  it  for  red  ants,  but  they  can  carry  away 
the  whole  jelly  cupboard  till  she  gets  here." 

"  I'll  tell  her,"  said  David,  and  went  off,  whistling. 

Phoebe's  paroxysm  of  grief  was  short-lived.  The 
soothing  quiet  of  the  quarry  calmed  her,  but  her  eyes 
showed  telltale  marks  of  tears  as  David's  steps  sounded 
down  the  lane. 


186  PATCHWORK 

She  rose  hastily,  then  sank  back  to  her  seat  under  the 
tree  as  she  saw  the  identity  of  the  intruder. 

"  Whew,  Phoebe  Metz,"  he  said  and  whistled  in  his 
old,  boyish  way  as  he  sat  beside  her,  "  you're  cry- 
ing!"  ' 

"  I  am  not,"  she  declared. 

"  Then  you  just  have  been !  I  haven't  seen  you  in 
tears  for  many  years.  Phcebe " — he  changed  his 
tone — "  what's  gone  wrong?  Anything  the  matter?  " 

"  Don't,"  she  sniffed,  "  don't  ask  me  or  you'll  have 
me  at  it  again."  She  steadied  her  voice  and  went  on, 
"  I  came  over  here  so  gloriously  happy  I  could  have 
shouted,  because  daddy  said  last  night  that  I  may  go 
to  Philadelphia  this  fall " 

"Gee  whiz!"  David  grabbed  her  hand.  "Why, 
I'm  tickled  to  death.  But  what — why  are  you  crying  ? 
Isn't  that  what  you  want  ?  " 

"  Yes."  She  smiled,  pleased  by  his  interest  and 
eagerness.  "  But  just  as  I  was  happiest  along  came 
Phares  and  told  me  it  was  wicked  to  go.  It's  all  a 
mistake  to  go,  he  said." 

"  Ach,  the  dickens  with  the  old  fossil !  "  David  cried. 
"  And  I'm  not  going  to  take  that  back  or  be  sorry  for 
saying  it.  Hadn't  he  better  sense  than  to  throw  a 
wet  blanket  on  all  your  happiness !  " 

"  Perhaps  I  needed  it.  I  was  just  about  burning  up 
with  gladness." 

"  Well,  don't  you  care  what  he's  thinking  about  it. 
You  go  learn  music  if  you  want  to  and  your  father 
lets  you  go.  Did  he  see  you  cry  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not !     I  wouldn't  cry  before  him.     He 


THE  PREACHER'S  WOOING  187 

would  say  that  was  foolish  or  wicked  or  something  it 
shouldn't  be.  But  you — you  are  so  sensible  I  don't 
mind  if  you  do  see  me  with  my  eyes  red." 

"  Ha,  ha,  that's  a  compliment.  I  have  been  told 
that  I  am  happy-go-lucky  and  sort  of  a  cheerful  idiot, 
but  no  person  ever  told  me  that  I'm  sensible.  Well, 
don't  you  forget  me  when  you  get  to  be  that  prima 
donna." 

"  I  won't.  You  and  Mother  Bab  rub  me  the  right 
way." 

"  But  won't  she  be  glad  when  I  tell  her,"  said  David. 
"  I  came  down  to  see  if  you  had  decided  about  it,  and 
I  find  it  all  arranged." 

"  And  me  in  tears,"  added  Phoebe,  her  natural  poise 
and  good  humor  again  restored.  "  Tell  Mother  Bab 
I  am  coming  up  soon  to  tell  her  about  it." 

So,  in  happier  mood,  she  walked  beside  David,  down 
the  green  lane  to  the  road,  across  the  road  to  her  own 
gate. 

"  So  you  come  once !  "  Aunt  Maria  greeted  her. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  your  pennyroyal !     I'll  go  get  it." 

"  Never  mind.  You  stayed  so  long  I  went  over  to 
the  field  near  the  barn  and  got  some.  But  you  look 
like  you've  been  cryin',  Phoebe.  Did  you  and  Phares 
have  a  fall-out  ?  " 

"  No." 

"You  and  David,  then?" 

"  No — please  don't  ask  me — it's  nothing." 

"  Well,  there  ain't  no  man  in  shoe  leather  worth 
cryin'  about,  I  can  tell  you  that.  They  just  laugh  at 
your  cryin'." 


i88  PATCHWORK 

Phoebe  smiled  at  her  aunt's  philosophy  and  resolved 
to  forget  the  discouraging  words  of  the  preacher.  She 
would  be  happy  in  spite  of  him — the  future  held  bright 
hours  for  her! 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  SCARLET  TANAGER 

THE  days  that  followed  were  busy  days  at  the  gray 
farmhouse.  Phoebe  was  soon  deep  in  the  preparations 
for  her  stay  in  the  city.  Her  meagre  wardrobe  re- 
quired replenishment ;  she  wanted  to  go  to  Philadelphia 
with  an  outfit  of  which  Miss  Lee  would  not  be 
ashamed.  Much  to  her  aunt's  surprise  the  girl  se- 
lected one-piece  dresses  of  blue  serge  with  sheer  white 
collars  for  every-day  wear  in  cold  weather;  a  few 
white  linens  for  warm  days ;  and  these,  with  her  blue 
serge  suit,  her  simple  white  graduation  dress,  and  a 
plain  dark  silk  dress,  were  the  main  articles  of  her  out- 
fit. Aunt  Maria  expressed  her  relief  and  wonder  at 
the  girl's  choice — "  Well,  it  wonders  me  that  you  don't 
want  a  lot  of  ugly  fancy  things  to  go  to  Phildelphy. 
Those  dresses  all  made  in  one  are  sensible  once.  I 
guess  the  style  makers  tried  all  the  outlandish  styles 
they  could  think  of  and  had  to  make  a  nice  style  once." 

But  when  Phoebe  purchased  a  piece  of  long-cloth  and 
began  to  make  undergarments,  beautifying  them  by 
sprays  of  hand  embroidery,  Aunt  Maria  scoffed, 
"  Umph,  I'd  be  ashamed  to  put  snake-doctors  on  my 
petticoats." 

The  girl  laughed.  "They  aren't  snake-doctors,  they 
are  butterflies,"  she  said. 


190  PATCHWORK 

"  Not  much  difference — both  got  wings.  I  don't 
see  what  for  you  want  to  waste  time  like  that." 

"  It  makes  them  prettier,  and  I  like  pretty  things." 

"  Ach,  you  have  dumb  notions  sometimes.  I  guess 
we  better  make  your  other  dresses  soon,  then  you 
won't  have  time  for  sewing  snake-doctors  or  butter- 
flies. You  better  get  your  silk  dress  made  in  Green- 
wald,  it's  so  soft  and  slippery  that  I  ain't  going  to 
bother  my  old  fingers  makin'  it.  Granny  Hogen- 
dobler  wants  to  come  out  and  help  to  sew,  and  David's 
mom  said  she'll  come  down  and  help  us  cut  and  fit  the 
serge  dresses.  She's  real  handy  like  that.  If  those 
dresses  look  as  nice  on  you  as  they  do  on  the  pictures 
they  will  be  all  right.  Granny  and  Barb  dare  just 
come  and  both  help  with  your  things — they  both  think 
it's  so  fine  for  you  to  go  to  the  city !  Granny  Hogen- 
dobler  spoiled  her  Nason  by  givin'  him  just  what  he 
wanted,  and  now  what  has  she  got  for  it?  And  I 
guess  Barb  is  easy  with  that  big  boy  of  hers.  Mebbe 
if  she  was  a  little  stricter  he'd  be  in  the  Church  like 
Phares  is,  though  David  is  a  nice  boy  and  I  guess  he 
don't  give  his  mom  any  trouble." 

"  I  just  love  Mother  Bab ;  don't  you  say  such  things 
about  her !  "  Phcebe  exclaimed,  her  eyes  flashing. 

"  Why,  I  like  her  too,"  the  woman  said.  She  looked 
at  Phcebe  in  surprise.  "  You  needn't  be  so  touchy. 
For  goodness'  sake,  don't  take  to  gettin'  touchy  like 
some  people  are!  Handling  them's  like  tryin'  to  plane 
over  a  knot  in  wood ;  any  way  you  push  the  plane  is  the 
wrong  way.  This  here  going  to  Philadelphy  upsets 
you,  I  guess.  You're  gettin'  as  touchy  as  the  little 


THE  SCARLET  TANAGER     191 

touch-me-nots  we  get  on  the  hill;  they  all  snap  shut 
when  you  touch  'em— only  you  snap  open." 

Phoebe  laughed.  "  I  guess  I  am  excited,"  she  ad- 
mitted. "  I'm  sewing  too  much  for  summer  days  and 
it  makes  me  irritable.  I  think  I'll  let  the  butterflies 
wait  and  I'll  go  outdoors.  Shall  I  weed  the  garden?  " 

"  Weed  the  garden  ?  Now  you're  talkin'  dumb ! 
Don't  you  know  yet  that  abody  don't  weed  a  garden  on 
Fridays?  Ours  always  gets  done  on  Monday.  But  if 
you  want  to  get  out  you  dare  take  some  of  the  sand- 
tarts  I  baked  yesterday  up  to  David's  mom,  she  likes 
them  so  much.  And  you  ask  her  if  she  can  come 
down  next  week  to  help  with  the  dresses.  But  don't 
stay  too  long,  for  it's  been  so  hot  all  day  and  I  think 
it's  goin'  to  storm  yet." 

"  Don't  worry  about  me  if  it  rains.  I  won't  start 
for  home  if  it  looks  threatening.  I'll  wait  till  the 
storm  is  over." 

Aunt  Maria  filled  a  basket  with  her  delectable 
cookies  and  the  girl  started  up  the  hill.  It  was,  in- 
deed, a  hot  day,  even  for  August.  Phcebe  paused 
several  times  in  the  shelter  of  overhanging  trees  as  she 
plodded  up  the  steep  road.  On  the  summit  she  climbed 
the  rail  fence  and  perched  in  the  cool  shade  for  a  little 
while  and  looked  out  over  the  valley  where  the  town 
of  Greenwald  lay. 

"  It's  lovely  here,  and  I'm  wondering  how  I  can  be 
happy  when  I  know  that  I  am  going  to  leave  it  soon 
and  go  to  the  city  for  a  long  winter  away  from  my 
home.  But  there's  a  voice  calling  to  me  from  the 
great  outside  world  and  I  won't  be  satisfied  until  I  go 


192  PATCHWORK 

and  mingle  with  the  multitude  of  a  great  city.  It  is 
life,  life,  that  I  want  to  see  and  know.  And  yet,  I'm 
glad  I'll  have  this  to  come  back  to!  It  gives  me  a 
comfortable  feeling  to  know  that  this  is  waiting  for 
me,  no  matter  where  I  go — this  is  still  my  home. 
Sometimes  I  wonder  if  Aunt  Maria  could  possibly  be 
speaking  wisely  when  she  says  it  is  all  a  waste  of 
money  to  run  off  to  the  city  and  study  music.  But 
what  is  there  on  the  farm  to  attract  me?  I  don't  want 
to  marry  yet " — the  remembrance  of  Phares  Eby's 
pleading  came  to  her — "  and  if  I  do  marry  some  time, 
it  won't  be  Phares.  No,  never  Phares!  Ach,  Phoebe 
Metz,  you  don't  know  what  you  want ! "  she  said  to 
herself  as  she  jumped  from  the  fence  and  ran  down  the 
road  to  the  Eby  farm. 

At  the  gate  she  paused.  Mother  Bab  stood  among 
her  flowers,  her  white-capped  head  bare  of  any  other 
covering,  the  hot  sunshine  streaming  upon  her. 

"  Mother  Bab,"  she  cried,  "  you  are  simply  baking 
in  the  sun !  " 

"  No,"  the  woman  turned  to  Phoebe  and  smiled. 
"  I'm  forgetting  it's  hot  while  I  look  at  the  flowers. 
You  see,  Phoebe,  I  was  in  the  house  sewing  and  trying 
to  keep  cool  and  all  of  a  sudden  my  eyes  grew  dim  so 
I  couldn't  sew.  The  fear  came  to  me,  the  fear  that 
my  sight  is  going,  though  I  try  not  to  strain  them  at 
all  and  never  sew  at  night.  Well,  I  just  ran  out  here 
and  began  to  look  and  look  at  my  flowers — if  I  ever  do 
go  blind  I'm  going  to  have  lots  of  memories  of  lovely 
things  I've  seen." 

Phoebe  drew  Mother  Bab's  face  to  her  and  kissed  it. 


THE  SCARLET  TANAGER     193 

"  You  just  mustn't  get  blind!  It  would  be  too  dread- 
ful. There  are  many  clever  specialists  in  the  city  these 
days.  Surely,  there  is  some  doctor  who  can  help  you." 

"  They  all  say  there  is  little  to  be  done  in  a  case  like 
mine.  But,  let's  forget  it ;  I  can  see  and  we'll  keep  on 
hoping  it  will  last.  I  went  to  a  doctor  at  Lancaster 
some  time  ago  and  I'm  going  to  give  him  a  fair  trial. 
I  guess  it'll  come  out  right." 

Phoebe  brightened  again  at  the  woman's  words  of 
contagious  cheer  and  hope. 

"  Isn't  the  garden  pretty  ?  "  asked  Mother  Bab  as 
they  looked  about  it. 

"  Perfect!     Those  zinnias  are  lovely." 

"  Yes,  I  like  them.  But  I  like  their  other  name 
better — Youth  and  Old  Age,  my  mother  used  to  call 
them.  She  used  to  say  that  they  are  not  like  other 
flowers,  more  like  people,  for  the  buds  open  into  tiny 
flowers  and  those  tiny  flowers  grow  and  develop  until 
they  are  large  and  perfect.  I  would  think  something 
fine  were  missing  in  my  garden  if  I  didn't  have  my 
Youth  and  Old  Age  every  year.  But  you  will  be  too 
hot  in  this  sun;  shall  we  go  in?  " 

"  No,  please,  not  until  I  have  seen  the  flowers.  I 
need  to  gather  precious  memories,  too,  to  take  with  me 
to  Philadelphia.  Oh,  I  like  this  " — she  knelt  in  the 
narrow  path  and  buried  her  face  in  fragrant  lemon 
verbena  plants. 

"  I  like  that,  too.  Mother  used  to  call  it  Joy  Ever- 
lasting. We  always  put  it  in  our  bureau  drawers  be- 
tween the  linens.  David  likes  lavender  better,  so  I 
use  that  now." 


194  PATCHWORK 

"  How  you  spoil  him,"  said  Phoebe. 

"  You  think  so  ?  "  asked  the  mother  gently. 

Phoebe  smiled  in  retraction  of  her  statement. 
"  We'll  both  be  parboiled  if  we  stay  out  here  any 
longer,"  she  said  as  she  linked  her  arm  into  Mother 
Bab's.  "  Aunt  Maria  sent  you  some  sandtarts." 

"Isn't  she  good!" 

"  Yes,  but  " — the  blue  eyes  twinkled  mischievously 
— "  they  are  just  a  bribe.  We  want  you  to  come  down 
and  help  us  with  the  dresses  some  day  next  week. 
You  are  not  to  sew,  but  if  you  are  there  to  tell  about 
the  fit  of  them  I'll  feel  better  satisfied.  Whew!  If 
it's  as  hot  as  this  I'll  have  a  lovely  time  fitting  woolen 
dresses ! " 

"  You  won't  mind." 

"  I  don't  believe  I  shall,  so  long  as  the  dresses  are  to 
be  worn  in  Philadelphia.  Granny  Hogendobler  is 
coming  out,  too.  Will  you  come?  " 

"  I'll  be  glad  to.  David  can  eat  his  dinner  at  his 
aunt's." 

They  entered  the  house  and  sat  in  the  sitting-room, 
a  room  dear  to  both  because  of  its  association  with 
many  happy  hours. 

"  I  love  this  room,"  Phoebe  said.  "  This  must  be 
one  of  my  pleasant  memories  when  I  go." 

"  I  like  it  better  than  any  other  room  in  the  house," 
said  Mother  Bab.  "  I  suppose  it's  because  the  old 
clock  and  the  haircloth  sofa  are  in  it.  Why,  Davie 
used  to  slide  down  the  ends  of  that  sofa  and  call  it  his 
boat  when  he  was  just  a  little  fellow.  And  that  old 
clock  " — her  voice  sank  to  the  tenderness  of  musing 


THE  SCARLET  TANAGER     195 

retrospect—"  why,  Davie's  father  set  it  up  the  day  we 
were  married  and  came  here  and  set  up  housekeeping 
and  it's  been  ticking  ever  since.  Davie  used  to  say 
'  tick-tock '  when  he  heard  it,  when  he  first  learned  to 
talk.  I  like  that  old  clock  most  as  much  as  if  it  were 
something  alive.  A  man  who  comes  around  here  to 
buy  antique  furniture  came  in  one  day  and  offered  to 
buy  it.  I'll  never  forget  how  David  told  him  it  wasn't 
for  sale.  The  very  thought  of  selling  the  old  clock 
made  Davie  cross." 

"  Davie  cross!  How  could  he  keep  the  twinkle  out 
of  his  eyes  long  enough  to  be  cross  ?  " 

"  Ach,  it  don't  last  long  when  he  gets  cross." 

"  Where  is  he  now,  Mother  Bab  ?  " 

"  Working  in  the  tobacco  field." 

"In  the  hot  sun!" 

"  He  says  he  don't  mind  it.  He's  so  pleased  with 
the  tobacco  this  summer.  It  looks  fine.  If  the  hail 
don't  get  in  it  now  it'll  bring  about  four  hundred  dol- 
lars, he  thinks.  That  will  be  the  most  he  has  ever 
gotten  out  of  it.  But  tobacco  is  an  awful  risk.  If  the 
weather  is  just  so  it  pays  about  the  best  of  anything 
around  this  part  of  the  country,  I  guess,  but  so  often 
the  poor  farmers  work  hard  in  the  tobacco  fields  and 
then  the  hail  comes  along  and  all  is  spoiled.  But  ours 
is  fine  so  far." 

"  I'm  glad.  David  has  been  working  hard  all  sum- 
mer with  it." 

"  Sometimes  he  gets  discouraged ;  Phares's  crops  al- 
ways seem  to  do  better  than  David's,  yet  David  works 
just  as  hard.  But  Phares  plants  no  tobacco." 


196  PATCHWORK 

At  that  moment  Phares  Eby  himself  came  into  the 
room  where  the  two  sat.  He  appeared  a  trifle  embar- 
rassed when  he  saw  Phoebe.  Since  the  June  meeting 
under  the  sycamore  tree  by  the  old  stone  quarry  he  had 
made  no  special  effort  to  see  her,  and  the  several  times 
they  had  met  in  that  time  he  had  greeted  her  with 
marked  restraint. 

"  Good-afternoon,"  he  murmured,  looking  from 
Phcebe  to  Mother  Bab  and  back  again  to  Phoebe.  "  I 
didn't  know  you  were  here,  Phcebe.  I — Aunt  Barbara, 
I  came  in  to  tell  you  there's  a  bright  red  bird  in  the 
woods  down  by  the  cornfield." 

"  There  is !  "  cried  Phoebe  with  much  interest.  "  Is 
it  all  red,  or  has  it  black  wings  and  tail  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  couldn't  say.  I  know  David  and  Aunt 
Barbara  are  always  interested  in  birds  and  I  heard 
David  say  the  other  day  that  he  hadn't  seen  a  red  bird 
this  summer,  that  they  must  be  getting  scarce  around 
this  section.  So  I  thought  I'd  come  up  and  tell  you 
about  it.  I  know  it  is  bright  red.  Do  you  want  to 
come  out  and  try  to  find  it  again,  Aunt  Barbara  ?  " 

"  Not  now,  Phares.  I  have  been  in  the  sun  so  much 
to-day  that  my  head  aches." 

"Would  you  care  to  see  it?"  he  asked  Phcebe  in 
visible  hesitation. 

She  answered  eagerly,  her  passionate  love  of  birds 
mastering  her  embarrassment.  "  I'd  love  to,  Phares ! 
I  am  anxious  to  see  whether  it's  a  tanager  or  a  cardi- 
nal. I  have  never  seen  a  cardinal." 

South  of  David  Eby's  cornfield  stretched  a  strip  of 
woodland.  There  blackberry  brambles  tangled  about 


'IT'S  A  TANAGER,"  SAID  PHOEBE 


THE  SCARLET  TANAGER  197 

the  bases  of  great  oaks  and  the  entire  woods — trees 
and  brambles — made  an  ideal  nesting-place  for  birds. 

"  Perhaps  it's  gone,"  said  the  preacher  as  they;  went 
along  to  the  woods. 

"  But  it's  worth  trying  for,"  she  said. 

They  kept  silent  then ;  only  the  rustling  of  the  corn 
was  heard  as  the  two  went  through  the  green  aisle. 
When  they  reached  the  woodland  a  sudden  burst  of 
glorious  melody  came  to  them.  Phoebe  laid  a  hand 
impulsively  upon  the  arm  of  the  preacher,  but  she  re- 
moved it  quite  as  suddenly  when  he  looked  down  at 
her  and  said,  "Our  bird!" 

The  bird,  a  scarlet  tanager,  aware  of  the  presence  of 
the  intruders  and  eager  to  attract  attention  to  himself 
and  safeguard  his  hidden  mate,  flew  to  an  exposed 
branch  of  an  oak  tree.  There  he  displayed  his  gor- 
geous, flaming  scarlet  body  with  its  touch  of  black  in 
wings  and  tail.  , 

"  It's  a  tanager,"  said  Phoebe.     "  Isn't  he  lovely !  " 

"  Very  fine,"  said  the  preacher.  "  What  color  is  his 
mate  ?  Is  she  red  ?  " 

"  She's  green,  a  lovely  olive  green.  When  she  sits 
on  the  nest  she's  just  the  color  of  her  surroundings. 
If  she  were  red  like  her  mate  she'd  be  too  easily  des- 
troyed." 

"  God's  providence,"  said  the  preacher. 

"  It  is  wonderful — look,  Phares,  there  he  goes !  " 

The  scarlet  tanager  made  a  streak  of  vivid  color 
across  the  sky  as  he  flew  off  over  the  corn. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  trusts  us  or  if  his  mate  is  not 
about,"  Phoebe  said.  "  He's  a  beauty,  so  is  his  mate  in 


200  PATCHWORK 

The  self-conscious  look  on  the  preacher's  face  assured 
David  that  he  had  stumbled  through  the  field  in  an 
awkward  moment,  that  his  presence  was  unwelcome. 
He  turned  to  go  back,  but  Phoebe  stepped  quickly  to 
him  and  took  his  hand. 

"  Ah,"  thought  Phares  with  a  twinge  of  jealousy, 
"  she  wouldn't  do  that  to  me.  How  quickly  she 
dropped  her  hand  a  while  ago.  They  are  such  good 
friends,  she  and  David.  It's  wrong  to  be  envious;  I 
must  fight  against  it — and  yet — I  want  her  just  as 
much  as  David  does !  " 

"David,"  Phoebe  begged,  "come  back!  Why,  I 
was  just  wishing  you  were  here!  There's  a  scarlet 
tanager — see !  "  She  pointed  to  the  brilliant  songster. 

"  I  thought  he  was  coming  to  this  woods  so  I  came 
to  hunt  him,"  said  David,  his  irritation  gone.  "  I  saw 
that  fellow  over  by  the  tobacco  field  and  followed  him 
here.  I  bet  they  have  their  nest  in  this  very  woods. 
We'll  look  better  next  spring  and  try  to  find  it  and  see 
the  little  ones.  Tut,  tut,"  he  whistled  to  the  bird, 
"  don't  sing  your  pretty  head  off."  His  eyes  turned  to 
the  sky  and  the  smile  left  his  face.  "  It  looks  threat- 
ening," he  said.  "  I  thought  I  heard  thunder  as  I  came 
through  the  corn." 

"  That  so  ?  "  said  Phares.  "  Then  we  better  move 
in." 

Even  as  they  turned  and  started  through  the  field 
the  thunder  came  again — distant — nearer,  rolling  in 
ominous  rumbles. 

"  Look  at  the  sky,"  said  David.  "  Clear  yellow — 
that  means  hail !  " 


THE  SCARLET  TANAGER     201 

"  Oh,  David  "—Phoebe  stood  still  and  looked  at  him 
— "  not  hail  on  your  tobacco !  " 

He  took  her  arm.  "  Come  on,  Phoebe,  it's  coming 
fast.  We  must  get  in.  Come  to  our  house,  Phares, 
that's  the  nearest." 

Just  as  they  reached  the  kitchen  door,  where  Mother 
Bab  was  looking  for  them,  the  hail  came. 

"  It's  hail,  Mommie,"  David  said.  The  three  words 
held  all  the  worry  and  pain  of  his  heart. 

"  Never  mind  " — the  little  mother  patted  his  shoul- 
der. "  It's  hail  for  more  people  than  we  know,  per- 
haps for  some  who  are  much  poorer  than  we  are." 

"  But  the  tobacco "  He  stood  by  the  window, 

impotent  and  weak,  while  the  devastating  hail  pounded 
and  rattled  and  smote  the  broad  leaves  of  his  tobacco 
and  rendered  it  almost  worthless. 

"  Won't  new  leaves  grow  again  ?  "  Phoebe  tried  to 
cheer  him. 

"  Not  this  late  in  the  summer.  My  tobacco  was  al- 
most ready  to  be  cut ;  it  was  unusually  early  this  year." 

"  Well,"  spoke  up  the  preacher,  "  I  can't  see  why 
you  always  plant  tobacco.  Smoking  and  chewing  to- 
bacco are  filthy  habits.  I  can't  see  why  so  many  peo- 
ple of  this  section  plant  the  weed  when  the  soil  could 
be  used  to  produce  some  useful  grain  or  vegetable." 

"  Yes  " — David  turned  and  addressed  his  cousin 
fiercely — "  it's  easy  enough  for  you  to  talk !  You  with 
your  big  farm  and  orchards  and  every  crop  a  success ! 
Your  bank  account  is  so  fat  that  you  don't  need  to  care 
whether  your  acres  bring  in  a  big  return  or  a  lean  one. 
But  when  you  have  just  a  few  acres  you  plant  the  thing 


202  PATCHWORK 

that  will  be  likely  to  bring  in  the  most  money.  You 
know  many  poor  people  plant  tobacco  for  that  reason, 
and  that  is  why  I  plant  it." 

"  Davie,"  the  mother  said,  "  Davie!  " 

"  I  know,"  he  said  bitterly.  "  I'm  a  beast  when  my 
temper  gets  beyond  control,  but  Phares  can  be  so  con- 
founded irritating,  he  rubs  salt  in  your  cuts  every 
time." 

"  Just  for  healing,"  the  mother  said  gently. 

"  David,"  said  Phoebe,  "  I  guess  the  temper  is  a  little 
bit  of  that  Irish  showing  up." 

At  that  David  smiled,  then  laughed. 

"  Phoebe,"  he  said,  "  you  know  how  to  rub  people 
the  right  way.  If  ever  I  have  the  blues  you  are  just 
the  right  medicine." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  called  medicine,"  she  said  with 
a  shake  of  her  head. 

"  Not  even  a  sugar  pill  ?  "  asked  Mother  Bab. 

"  No.     I  don't  like  the  sound  of  pill." 

David  looked  across  at  the  preacher,  who  stood 
silent  and  helpless  in  the  swift  tide  of  conversation. 
"  You  may  be  right,  Phares.  It  may  be  the  wrath  of 
Providence  upon  the  tobacco.  I'll  try  alfalfa  in  that 
field  next  and  then  I'll  rub  Aladdin's  lamp.  I'll  make 
some  money  then !  " 

"Where  do  you  find  Aladdin's  lamp?"  asked 
Phoebe. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  now.  But  I  know  I'm  tired  of 
slaving  and  having  nothing  for  my  work,  so  I  am 
going  after  the  magic  lamp.'1 


CHAPTER  XIV 
ALADDIN'S  LAMP 

THE  morning  after  the  hail  storm  dawned  fair  and 
sunshiny.  David  went  out  and  stood  at  the  edge  of 
his  tobacco  field.  All  about  him  the  hail  had  wrought 
its  destruction.  Where  yesterday  broad,  thick  leaves 
of  green  tobacco  had  stood  out  strong  and  vigorous 
there  hung  only  limp  shreds,  punctured  and  torn  into 
worthlessness. 

"All  wasted,  my  summer's  work.  I'll  rub  that 
magic  lamp  now.  Fool  that  I  was,  not  to  do  it 
sooner ! " 

A  little  later,  as  he  walked  down  the  road  to  town, 
his  lips  were  closed  in  a  resolute  line,  his  shoulders 
squared  in  soldierly  fashion.  "  I  hope  Caleb  Warner 
is  in  his  office,"  he  thought. 

Caleb  Warner  was  in ;  he  greeted  David  cordially. 

"  Good-morning,  Dave.  How  are  things  out  your 
way?  Hail  do  much  damage?  " 

"  Some  damage,"  echoed  the  farmer.  "  It  hailed 
just  about  four  hundred  dollars'  worth  too  much  for 
me." 

"  What,  you  don't  say  so !  That's  the  trouble  with 
your  farming." 

Caleb  Warner  was  an  affable  little  man  with  a  frank, 


204  PATCHWORK 

almost  innocent,  look  on  his  smooth-shaven  face. 
Spontaneous  interest  in  his  friends'  affairs  made  him 
an  agreeable  companion  and  helped  materially  to  in- 
crease his  clientele — Caleb  Warner  dealt  in  real  estate 
and,  incidentally,  in  oil  stocks  and  gold  stocks. 

"  That's  just  the  trouble  with  your  farming,"  he  re- 
peated. "  You  slave  and  break  your  back  and  crops 
are  fine  and  you  hope  to  have  a  good  return  for  your 
labor,  when  along  comes  a  hail  storm  and  ruins  your 
fruit  or  tobacco  or  corn,  or  along  comes  a  dry  spell  or 
a  wet  spell  with  the  same  result.  It  sounds  mighty 
fine  to  say  the  farmer  is  the  most  independent  person 
on  the  face  of  the  earth — it's  a  different  proposition 
when  you  try  it  out.  Not  so  ?  " 

"  I'm  about  convinced  you  speak  the  truth  about  it," 
said  the  farmer. 

"  I  know  I  do.  I  used  to  be  a  farmer,  but  I  have 
grown  wiser.  I  think  there  are  too  many  other  ways 
to  make  money  with  less  risk." 

"  That  is  why  I  came "  David  hesitated,  but 

the  other  man  waited  silently  for  the  explanation. 
"  Have  you  any  more  of  the  gold-mine  stock  you 
offered  me  some  time  ago  ?  " 

"That  Nevada  mine?" 

"Yes." 

"Just  one  thousand  dollars'  worth;  the  rest  is  all 
cleaned  out.  I  sold  a  thousand  yesterday.  Listen, 
Dave,  there's  the  chance  of  your  life.  You  know  how 
I  worked  on  that  farm  of  mine,  how  my  wife  had  to 
slave,  how  even  Mary  had  to  work  hard.  Then  one  day 
a  friend  of  mine  who  had  gone  west  came  to  me  and 


ALADDIN'S  LAMP  205 

offered  me  some  stock  in  a  western  gold  mine.  My 
wife  was  afraid  of  it,  said  I'd  lose  every  cent  I  put  in  it 
and  we'd  have  to  go  to  the  poorhouse — women  don't 
generally  understand  about  investments.  But  I  went 
ahead  and  got  the  stock,  and  in  a  few  years  I  sold  out 
part  of  it  for  a  neat  sum  and  drew  big  dividends  on 
what  I  kept.  Then  we  moved  to  town;  my  wife  keeps 
a  maid,  Mary  goes  to  college,  and  we're  living  instead 
of  slaving  our  lives  away  on  a  farm.  And  it's  hon- 
estly made  money,  for  the  gold  was  put  into  the  earth 
for  us  to  use.  It  is  just  a  case  of  running  a  little  risk, 
but  no  person  loses  money  because  of  your  risk.  Of 
course,  there's  lots  of  stock  sold  that's  not  worth  the 
paper  it's  written  on,  but  I  don't  sell  that  kind." 

"  People  trust  you  here,"  said  David. 

If  the  man  winced  or  had  reason  to  do  so,  he  be- 
trayed no  sign  of  it.  "  I  hope  so,"  he  said.  "  You 
have  known  me  all  my  life.  If  I  ever  want  to  work 
any  skin  game  I'll  go  out  of  the  place  where  all  my 
friends  are.  This  mine  of  which  I  speak  is  near  the 
mine  at  Goldfield  and  some  of  the  veins  struck  recently 
are  richer  than  those  of  the  renowned  Goldfield.  They 
are  still  striking  deeper  veins.  I  have  sold  stock  in 
that  mine  to  fifteen  people  in  this  town." 

He  mentioned  some  of  the  residents  of  Greenwald ; 
people  who,  in  David's  opinion,  were  too  shrewd  to  be 
entangled  in  any  nefarious  investment.  The  names 
impressed  David — if  those  fifteen  put  their  money  into 
it  he  might  as  well  be  the  sixteenth. 

In  a  little  while  David  Eby  walked  home  with  a 
paper  representing  the  ownership  of  a  number  of 


206  PATCHWORK 

shares  of  a  certain  gold  mine  in  Nevada,  while  Caleb 
Warner  patted  musingly  a  check  for  five  hundred 
dollars. 

Mother  Bab  wondered  at  her  boy's  philosophical  ac- 
ceptance of  his  crop  failure.  "  I'm  glad  you  take  it 
this  way,"  she  said  as  he  came  in,  whistling,  from  his 
trip  to  Greenwald. 

"What's  the  use  of  crying?"  he  answered  gaily, 
though  he  felt  far  from  gay.  Had  he  been  too  hasty? 
Doubts  began  to  assail  him.  It  was  going  to  be  hard 
to  deceive  his  mother,  she  was  always  so  eager  for  his 
confidence.  But,  then,  he  was  doing  it  for  her  sake 
as  much  as  for  his  own.  The  war  clouds  were  draw- 
ing nearer  and  nearer  to  this  country ;  if  the  time  came 
when  America  would  enter  the  war  he  would  have  to 
answer  the  call  for  help.  If  the  stock  turned  out  to 
be  what  the  other  wise  men  of  the  town  felt  confident 
it  would  be  then  the  added  money  would  be  a  boon  to 
his  mother  while  he  was  away  in  the  service  of  his 
country — and  yet — it  was  a  great  risk  he  was  running. 
Why  had  he  done  it?  The  old  lines  of  the  poem  came 
back  to  him  and  burned  into  his  soul, 

"  O  what  a  tangled  web  we  weave 
When  first  we  practice  to  deceive." 

Then,  again,  swift  upon  that  thought  came  the  old 
proverb,  "  Nothing  venture,  nothing  gain."  Thus  he 
was  torn  between  doubt  and  satisfaction,  but  it  was  too 
late  to  undo  the  deed.  He  was  the  owner  of  the  stock 
and  Caleb  Warner  had  the  five  hundred  dollars ! 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  FLEDGLING'S  FLIGHT 

PHCEBE  found  the  packing  of  her  trunk  a  task  not 
altogether  without  pain.  As  she  gathered  her  few 
treasures  from  her  room  a  feeling  of  desolation  seemed 
to  pervade  the  place.  Going  away  from  home  for  the 
first  long  stay,  however  bright  the  new  place  of  so- 
journ, brings  to  most  hearts  an  undercurrent  of  sad- 
ness. 

She  smiled  a  bit  wistfully  at  her  few  treasures — her 
books,  an  old  picture  of  her  mother,  the  little  Testa- 
ment Aunt  Maria  gave  her  to  read,  the  few  trinkets 
her  school  friends  had  given  her  from  time  to  time,  a 
little  kodak  picture  of  Mother  Bab  and  David  in  the 
flower  garden. 

At  last  the  dreary  task  was  done,  the  trunk  strapped, 
and  she  was  ready  for  the  journey.  It  was  a  perfect 
September  day  when  she  left  the  gray  farmhouse, 
drove  in  the  country  road  and  stood  with  her  father, 
Aunt  Maria,  Mother  Bab,  David  and  Phares  at  the 
railroad  station  in  Greenwald  and  waited  for  the  noon 
train  to  Philadelphia. 

Jacob  Metz  and  the  preacher  made  brave,  though 
visible,  efforts  to  be  cheerful;  Maria  Metz  made  no 
effort  to  be  anything  except  very  greatly  worried  and 
anxious;  but  Mother  Bab  and  David  were  determined 


208  PATCHWORK 

that  the  girl's  departure  was  to  be  nothing  less  than 
pleasant. 

"  Now  be  sure,  Phoebe,"  said  Aunt  Maria  for  the 
tenth  time,  "  to  ask  the  conductor  at  Reading  if  that 
train  is  for  Phildelphy  before  you  get  on,  and  at  Phil- 
delphy  you  wait  till  Miss  Lee  fetches  you." 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Maria,  I'll  be  careful." 

"  And  don't  lose  your  trunk  check — David,  did  you 
give  it  to  her  for  sure  ?  " 

"  Yes.     She'll  hold  on  to  it,  don't  you  worry." 

"  Phoebe  will  be  all  right,"  said  Mother  Bab. 

"And,"  said  David  teasingly,  "be  sure  to  let  me 
know  when  you  need  that  beet  juice  and  cream  and 
flour." 

"  Davie !    Now  for  that  I  won't  write  to  you !  " 

"  Yes  you  will !  "  His  eyes  looked  so  long  into  hers 
that  she  said  confusedly,  "  Ach,  I'll  write.  Mind  that 
you  take  good  care  of  Mother  Bab  and  stop  in  some- 
times to  see  how  Aunt  Maria  and  daddy  are  getting 
on  without  me." 

"  Ach,  we'll  be  all  right,"  said  Aunt  Maria.  "  Just 
you  take  care  of  yourself  so  far  away  from  home. 
And  if  you  get  homesick  you  come  right  home.  Any- 
way, you  come  home  soon  to  see  us;  and  be  sure  to 
write  every  week  still." 

"Yes,  yes!" 

A  shrill  whistle  announced  the  approach  of  the  train. 
There  were  hurried  kisses  and  good-byes,  a  handshake 
for  the  preacher  and,  last  of  all,  a  handshake  for 
David.  He  held  her  hand  so  long  that  she  cried  out, 
"  David,  you'll  make  me  miss  the  train !  " 


THE  FLEDGLING'S  FLIGHT          209 

"  No— good-bye." 

"  Good-bye,  David."  Then  she  tugged  at  her  hand 
and  in  a  moment  was  hurrying  to  the  train. 

There  were  few  passengers  that  day,  so  the  train 
made  a  short  stop.  Phoebe  smiled  as  the  train  started, 
leaned  forward  and  waved  till  the  familiar  group  was 
lost  to  her  view,  then  she  settled  herself  with  a  brave 
little  smile  and  looked  at  the  well-known  fields  an'd 
meadows  she  was  passing.  The  trees  on  Cemetery 
Hill  were  silhouetted  against  the  blue  sky  just  as  she 
had  seen  them  many  times  in  her  walks  about  the 
country. 

But  soon  the  old  landmarks  disappeared  and  un- 
known fields  lay  about  her.  Crude  rail  fences  divided 
acres  of  rustling  corn  from  orchards  whose  trees  were 
laden  with  red  apples  or  downy  peaches.  Occasionally 
flocks  of  startled  birds  rose  from  fields  freshly  plowed 
for  the  fall  sowing  of  wheat.  Huge  red  barns  and 
spacious  open  tobacco  sheds,  hung  with  drying  tobacco, 
gave  evidence  of  the  prosperity  of  the  farmers  of  that 
section.  Little  schoolhouses  were  dotted  here  and 
there  along  the  road.  Flowers  bloomed  by  the  way- 
side and  in  them  Phoebe  was  especially  interested. 
Goldenrod  in  such  great  profusion  that  it  seemed  the 
very  sunshine  of  the  skies  was  imprisoned  in  flower 
form,  stag-horn  sumac  with  its  grape-like  clusters  of 
red  adding  brilliancy  to  the  landscape — everywhere 
was  manifest  the  dawn  of  autumnal  glory,  the  splendor 
that  foreruns  decay,  the  beauty  that  is  but  the  first 
step  in  nature's  transition  from  blossom  and  harvest 
to  mystery  and  sleep. 


210  PATCHWORK 

Every  two  or  three  miles  the  train  stopped  at  little 
stations  and  then  Phoebe  leaned  from  her  window  to 
see  the  beautiful  stretches  of  country. 

At  one  flag  station  the  train  was  signalled  and  came 
to  a  stop.  Just  outside  Phoebe's  window  stood  a  tall 
farmer.  He  rubbed  his  fingers  through  his  hair  and 
stared  curiously  at  the  train. 

"  Step  lively,"  shouted  the  trainman. 

But  the  farmer  shook  his  head.  "  Ach,  I  don't  want 
on  your  train !  I  expected  some  folks  from  Lititz  and 
thought  they'd  be  on  this  here  train.  Didn't  none  get 
on " 

But  the  angry  trainman  had  heard  enough.  He 
pulled  the  cord  and  the  train  started,  leaving  the  old 
man  alone,  his  eyes  scanning  the  moving  cars. 

Phoebe  laughed.  "  We  Pennsylvania  Dutch  do 
funny  things !  I  wonder  if  I'll  seem  strange  and  fool- 
ish to  the  people  I  shall  meet  in  the  great  city." 

At  Reading  she  obeyed  Aunt  Maria's  injunction  and 
boarded  the  proper  train.  The  ride  along  the  winding 
Schuylkill  was  thoroughly  enjoyed  by  the  country  girl, 
but  the  picture  changed  when  the  country  was  left  be- 
hind, suburban  Philadelphia  passed,  and  the  train  en- 
tered the  crowded  heart  of  the  city.  They  passed  close 
to  dark  houses  grimy  with  the  accumulated  smoke  of 
many  passing  locomotives.  Great  factories  loomed 
before  the  train,  factories  where  girls  looked  up  for  a 
moment  at  the  whirring  cars  and  turned  again  to  the 
grinding  life  of  loom  or  machine.  The  sight  disheart- 
ened Phoebe.  Was  life  in  the  city  like  that  for  some 
girls?  How  dreadful  to  be  shut  up  in  a  factory  while 


THE  FLEDGLING'S  FLIGHT  211 

outdoors  the  whole  panorama  of  the  seasons  moved 
on!  She  would  miss  the  fields  and  woods  but  she 
would  make  the  sacrifice  gladly  if  she  might  only  see 
life,  meet  people  and  learn  to  sing.  The  thoughts 
awakened  by  the  sight  of  the  shut-in  girls  were  not 
happy  ones.  She  welcomed  the  call,  "  Reading  Ter- 
minal, Philadelphia." 

As  she  followed  the  stream  of  fellow  passengers  and 
walked  through  the  dim  train  shed  to  the  exit  her  heart 
beat  more  quickly — she  was  really  in  Philadelphia! 
But  the  noise,  the  stream  of  people  rushing  from  trains 
past  other  people  rushing  to  trains,  bewildered  her. 
She  saw  the  sea  of  faces  beyond  the  iron  gates  and 
experienced  for  the  first  time  the  loneliness  that  comes 
to  a  traveler  who  enters  a  thronged  depot  and  sees  a 
host  of  people  but  enters  unwelcomed  and  ungreeted. 

However,  the  loneliness  was  momentary.  The  next 
minute  she  caught  sight  of  Miss  Lee.  A  wave  of  re- 
lief and  happiness  swept  over  her — she  was  in  Phila- 
delphia, the  land  of  her  heart's  desire! 


CHAPTER  XVI 
PHCEBE'S  DIARY 

September  15. 

I'M  in  Philadelphia — really,  truly!  Phoebe  Metz, 
late  of  a  gray  farmhouse  in  Lancaster  County,  is  sit- 
ting in  a  beautiful  room  of  the  Lee  residence,  Phila- 
delphia. 

What  a  lot  of  things  I  have  to  write  in  you,  diary! 
I  can  scarcely  find  the  beginning.  Before  I  left  home 
I  thought  about  keeping  a  diary,  how  entertaining  it 
would  be  to  sit  down  when  I'm  old  and  gray  and  read 
the  accounts  of  my  first  winter  in  the  city.  So  I  went 
to  Greenwald  and  bought  the  fattest  note-book  I  could 
find  and  I'm  going  to  write  in  you  all  of  my  joys — let's 
hope  there  won't  be  any  sorrows — and  all  of  my 
pleasures  and  all  about  my  impressions  of  places  and 
people  in  this  great,  wonderful  City  of  Brotherly  Love. 
Of  course,  I'll  write  letters  home  and  to  David  and 
Mother  Bab  and  some  of  the  girls,  but  there  are  so 
many  things  one  can't  tell  others  yet  likes  to  remember. 
So  you'll  have  to  be  my  safety  valve,  confidant  and 
confessor. 

When  I  left  the  train  at  Philadelphia  I  was  bewil- 
dered and  confused.  Such  crowds  I  never  saw.  not 
even  in  Lancaster.  Seemed  like  everybody  in  the  city 


PHOEBE'S  DIARY  213 

was  coming  from  a  train  or  running  to  one.  I  was 
glad  to  see  Miss  Lee.  She's  the  dearest  person!  I 
love  her  as  much  as  I  did  when  I  went  to  her  school  on 
the  hill.  I'm  as  tall  as  she  is  now.  She  dresses  beau- 
tifully. I  thought  my  blue  serge  suit  was  lovely  but 
her  clothes  are — well,  I  suppose  you'd  call  them  crea- 
tions. I'm  so  glad  I'm  going  to  be  near  her  all  winter 
and  can  copy  from  her. 

As  I  came  through  the  gates  at  the  depot  she  caught 
me  and  kissed  me.  I  thought  she  was  alone,  but  a 
moment  later  she  turned  to  a  tall  man  and  introduced 
him,  her  cousin,  Royal  Lee,  the  musician.  If  Aunt 
Maria  could  see  him  she'd  warn  me  again,  as  she  did 
repeatedly,  not  to  "  leave  that  fiddlin'  man .  get  too 
friendly."  He's  handsome.  I  never  before  met  a 
man  like  him.  His  magnetic  smile,  his  low  voice  at- 
tracted me  right  away. 

After  he  piloted  us  through  the  crowded  depot  and 
into  a  taxicab  Miss  Lee  began  to  ask  me  questions 
about  Greenwald  and  the  people  she  knows  there.  I 
felt  rather  timid,  for  I  was  conscious  of  the  appraising 
eyes  of  her  cousin.  He  didn't  stare  at  me,  yet  every 
time  I  glanced  at  him  his  eyes  were  searching  my  face. 
Does  he  think  me  very  countrified,  I  wonder?  I  do 
have  the  red  cheeks  country  girls  are  always  credited 
with,  but  I'm  glad  I'm  not  "  buxom."  I'd  hate  to  be 
fat! 

I  wish  I  could  describe  Royal  Lee.  He's  just  as  I 
pictured  him,  only  more  so.  He  has  the  lean,  aesthetic 
face  of  the  musician,  the  sensitive  nostrils  and  thin  lips 
denoting  acute  temperament.  His  eyes  are  gray. 


214  PATCHWORK 

As  we  rode  through  the  streets  of  the  city  Miss  Lee 
told  me  her  mother  would  have  me  stay  with  them 
until  we  can  find  a  suitable  boarding  place.  To-mor- 
row we're  going  in  search  of  one. 

Taxicabs  travel  pretty  fast.  We  skirted  past  curbs 
so  that  I  almost  held  my  breath  and  shot  past  trucks 
and  other  cars  till  I  thought  we'd  surely  land  in  the 
street.  But  we  escaped  safely  and  soon  stopped  at  the 
Lee  residence,  a  big,  imposing  brownstone  house.  It 
looks  bare  outside,  no  yard,  no  flowers.  But  inside  it's 
a  lovely  place,  so  inviting  and  attractive  that  I'd  like  to 
settle  down  for  life  in  it. 

Mrs.  Lee  is  as  charming  as  her  daughter.  She  has 
been  a  semi-invalid  for  years,  but  even  in  her  wheel- 
chair she  has  the  poise  and  manner  of  one  well  born. 
Her  greeting  was  so  cordial  and  gracious,  but  all  I 
could  answer  was  an  inane,  "  Thank  you,  you  are  very 
kind."  Will  I  ever  learn  to  express  my  thoughts  as 
charmingly  as  these  people  do,  I  wonder ! 

When  Miss  Lee  took  me  up-stairs  it  was  up  a  bare, 
polished  stairway  upon  which  I  was  half  afraid  to 
tread.  And  the  room  she  took  me  to!  I've  heard 
about  such  rooms  and  read  about  them.  Delft  blue 
paper  and  rugs,  white  woodwork  and  furniture,  blue 
hangings,  white  curtains — it's  a  magazine-room  turned 
to  real! 

When  I  tried  to  express  my  gratitude  for  her  good- 
ness Miss  Lee  hushed  me  with  a  kiss  and  said  she  an- 
ticipated as  much  joy  from  my  presence  in  the  city  as  I 
did,  that  I  was  so  genuine  and  refreshing  that  it  would 
be  a  pleasure  to  have  me  around.  I  don't  know  just 


PHGEBE'S  DIARY  215 

what  she  means.  I'm  just  Phoebe  Metz,  nothing  won- 
derful about  me,  unless  it's  my  voice,  and  I  hope  that 
is.  She  said,  too,  that  I  would  make  her  very  happy 
if  I'd  let  her  be  a  real  friend  to  me,  and  if  I'd  call  her 
Virginia.  Why,  that's  just  what  I've  been  wishing 
for!  I  told  her  so.  She  is  just  twelve  years  older 
than  I  am,  so  she's  near  the  thirty  mark  yet,  and  I  like 
a  friend  who  is  older.  She  seems  just  the  same  Miss 
Lee,  no  older  than  she  was  when  I  walked  down  the 
street  of  Green wald  in  my  gingham  dress  and  checked 
sunbonnet  and  buried  my  nose  in  the  pink  rose  David 
gave  me.  How  lucky  that  little  country  girl  is !  I'm. 
here  in  Philadelphia,  in  a  beautiful  house,  with  Vir- 
ginia Lee  for  my  friend,  and  glorious  visions  of  music 
and  good  times  flashing  before  my  eyes.  I  put  my 
hands  to  my  head  to  keep  it  from  going  dizzy ! 

There's  a  little  speck  of  cloud  in  the  blue  of  my  joy 
right  now,  though.  I'm  afraid  I've  blundered  already. 
Miss  Lee — Virginia,  I  mean — said  as  she  turned  to 
leave  my  room  that  they  have  dinner  at  six  and  I'd 
have  plenty  of  time  to  get  ready  for  it.  I  had  to  tell 
her  that  I  couldn't  change  my  dress,  that  I  hadn't 
thought  to  bring  any  light  dress  in  my  bag  but  had 
packed  them  all  in  the  trunk.  She  hurried  to  assure 
me  that  my  dark  skirt  and  white  blouse  would  do  very 
well,  that  she  would  not  dress  for  dinner  to-night. 
But  I  feel  sure  that  she  seldom  appears  at  the  dinner 
table  in  a  blouse  and  tailored  skirt.  Guess  Aunt 
Maria'd  say  I'm  in  a  place  too  tony  for  me,  but  I  know 
I  can  learn  how  to  do  here.  I  might  have  remembered 
that  some  people  make  of  their  evening  meal  a  formal 


216  PATCHWORK 

one.  I've  read  about  "  dressing  for  dinner "  and 
when  my  first  opportunity  comes  to  do  so  it  finds  me 
with  all  my  dress-up  dresses  packed  in  a  trunk  in  the 
express  office!  Perhaps  it  serves  me  right  for  want- 
ing to  "  put  on  style,"  but  I  remember  an  old  saying 
about  "  doing  as  the  Romans  do."  At  any  rate,  I'm 
going  to  make  the  best  of  it  and  quit  worrying  about  it, 
or  I'll  be  so  fussed  I'll  eat  with  my  knife  or  pour  my 
coffee  into  my  saucer ! 

Later  in  the  evening. 

What  a  whirl  my  brain  is  in!  Things  happen  so 
fast  that  I  scarcely  know  where  to  begin  again  to  write 
about  them.  But  it  began  with  the  dinner.  That  was 
the  grandest  dinner  I  ever  tasted  but  I  don't  remember 
a  single  thing  I  ate,  though  I  do  know  there  was  no 
bread  or  jelly.  What  would  Aunt  Maria  think  of 
that!  The  delicate  china,  fine  linen  and  silver  were 
the  loveliest  I  have  ever  seen.  There  were  electric 
lights  with  soft-colored  shades  and  there  was  a  colored 
waiter  who  seemed  to  move  without  effort.  The  forks 
and  spoons  for  the  different  courses  bothered  me.  I 
had  to  glance  at  Virginia  to  see  which  one  to  use. 
Once  during  the  dinner  I  thought  of  the  time  Mollie 
Brubaker  told  Aunt  Maria  about  a  dinner  she  had  in 
the  home  of  a  city  relative.  I  remember  how  Aunt 
Maria  sniffed,  "  Humph,  if  abody's  right  hungry  you 
can  eat  without  such  dumb  style  put  on.  I  say  when 
you  cook  and  carry  things  to  the  table  for  people  you 
don't  need  to  feed  them  yet,  they  can  help  themselves. 
Just  so  it's  clean  and  cooked  good  and  enough  to  go 


PHCEBE'S  DIARY  217 

round,  that's  all  I  try  for  when  I  get  company  to  eat." 
I  felt  like  a  fish  out  of  water  at  the  Lee  dinner  table, 
but  Mrs.  Lee  and  the  others  were  so  kind  and  tactful 
that  I  could  not  be  embarrassed,  not  enough  to  show  it. 
However,  I  thought  to  myself  as  we  rose  from  the 
table,  "Thank  Heaven!" 

Mrs.  Lee  asked  me  whether  I  like  music.  We  were 
in  the  sitting-room  and  Mr.  Lee  stood  by  the  piano,  his 
hand  on  his  violin  case. 

"  Yes,  indeed !  "  I  told  her,  for  I  was  anxious  to  hear 
him  play.  I  have  never  heard  any  great  violinist  but 
the  sound  of  a  violin  sets  me  thrilling.  I  could  listen 
to  it  for  hours. 

Mr.  Lee  smiled  at  my  enthusiasm,  lifted  the  instru- 
ment to  his  shoulder  and  began  to  play.  If  I  live  to  be 
a  hundred  I'll  never  forget  that  music!  Like  the 
soothing  winds  of  summer,  the  subtle  fragrance  of  a 
wild  rose,  the  elusive  phantoms  of  our  dreams,  it 
stirred  my  soul.  I  sat  as  one  dazed  when  he  ended. 

"  You  say  nothing.  Don't  you  like  my  music  ?  "  he 
asked  me. 

"Like  your  music?  Like  is  too  poor  a  word!" 
And  I  tried  to  tell  him  how  I  loved  it.  He  smiled 
again,  that  calling,  hypnotizing  smile,  that  made  me 
want  to  rush  to  him  and  ask  him  to  be  my  friend. 
But  I  restrained  myself  and  turned  to  listen  to  Vir- 
ginia. The  music  haunted  me.  It  sounded  like  the 
voice  of  a  soul  searching  for  something  it  could  never 
find.  I  was  still  dreaming  about  it  when  I  heard  Mr. 
Lee  say,  "  Now,  Aunt,  shall  we  have  some  cribbage  ?  " 
I  watched  him  uncomprehendingly  as  he  arranged  a 


2i8  PATCHWORK 

small  table  and  brought  out  cards  and  boards  for  a 
game.  The  full  significance  of  his  actions  dawned 
upon  me — they  were  going  to  play  cards !  I  had  never 
seen  a  game  of  cards,  but  Aunt  Maria  taught  me  long 
ago  that  cards  are  the  instrument  of  the  Evil  One. 
My  first  impulse  was  to  run  from  the  room,  away  from 
the  cards,  but  I  hated  to  be  so  rude. 

"  Do  you  play  cards  ?  "  Royal  Lee  asked  me. 

"  No,  oh,  no !  "  I  gasped. 

"  You  should  learn.  I'm  sure  you  would  enjoy 
playing." 

I  know  my  face  flushed.  He  did  not  notice  my  be- 
wilderment and  went  on,  "  We'll  teach  you  to  play, 
Miss  Metz."  Then  he  turned  to  the  game. 

Virginia  came  to  my  rescue  and  drew  me  to  a  seat 
near  her.  She  asked  me  questions  about  Greenwald. 
Goodness  only  knows  what  I  answered  her.  My  at- 
tention was  a  variant.  Troubled  thoughts  distressed 
me.  In  Aunt  Maria's  category  of  sins  dancing,  card 
playing  and  theatre-going  rank  side  by  side  with  lying, 
stealing  and  idolatry.  As  I  sat  there  I  tried  to  recon- 
cile my  opinion  of  these  worldly  pleasures  with  the 
conduct  of  my  new  friends.  The  tangle  is  too  compli- 
cated to  unravel  at  once.  I  could  feel  blushes  of 
shame  staining  my  cheeks  as  the  game  progressed. 
What  would  Aunt  Maria  say,  what  would  daddy  say, 
what  would  even  tolerant  Mother  Bab  say,  if  they 
knew  I  sat  passively  by  and  watched  a  game  of  cards  ? 
After  a  little  while  I  asked  Virginia  whether  I  could 
write  a  letter  to  Aunt  Maria  and  tell  her  of  my  safe 
arrival.  I  just  had  to  get  out  of  that  room !  I  don't 


PHCEBE'S  DIARY  219 

know  if  she  saw  through  my  ruse  but  she  smiled  as  she 
put  her  arm  around  me  and  led  me  to  the  stairs. 
"  There's  a  desk  in  your  room,  Phoebe.  You  can  be 
undisturbed  there.  Tell  your  aunt  we  are  going  to 
help  you  find  a  comfortable  home  and  that  we  are 
going  to  take  care  of  you.  I'll  be  up  presently  to 
visit  with  you." 

When  I  got  up-stairs  I  felt  like  crying.  Those 
cards  actually  scared  me.  I  shrank  from  being  so 
near  the  evil  things.  But  after  a  while  as  I  came  to 
think  more  calmly  I  decided  that  cards  couldn't  hurt 
me  if  I  didn't  play  them.  I  promised  myself  to  keep 
from  being  contaminated  with  the  wickedness  of  the 
city  the  while  I  enjoyed  its  harmless  pleasures.  The 
first  horror  of  the  cards  soon  passed  but  it  left  me 
sobered.  I  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Aunt  Maria  and  then 
turned  off  the  lights  and  looked  down  into  the  city 
street.  It  seemed  wonderful  to  me  to  see  so  many 
lights  stretched  off  until  some  of  them  were  mere 
specks.  There  was  a  wedding  across  the  street.  I 
saw  the  guests  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  bride, 
dressed  all  in  white.  But  later,  when  Virginia  came 
up  to  my  room  and  I  asked  her  about  it  she  didn't 
know  a  thing  about  the  wedding.  Why,  at  home,  if 
there's  a  big  wedding  and  the  neighbors  don't  know 
about  it  or  are  not  invited  to  it,  they  feel  slighted.  But 
Virginia  says  a  city  is  different,  that  you  don't  really 
have  neighbors  like  in  Greenwald. 

Virginia  told  me,  too,  how  she  came  to  teach  in  our 
school  on  the  hill.  When  she  finished  college  she 
wanted  to  earn  money,  just  to  prove  that  she  could. 


220  PATCHWORK 

Her  father  wanted  her  to  stay  home  and  live  the  life 
of  a  butterfly,  she  says.  One  day  he  said,  more  in 
jest  than  earnest,  that  if  she  insisted  upon  earning 
money  he'd  give  his  consent  to  her  being  a  teacher  in 
a  rural  school.  She  accepted  the  challenge  and 
through  her  cousin  she  secured  the  place  on  the  hill 
and  became  my  teacher.  When  her  father  died  and 
her  mother  became  a  semi-invalid  she  gave  up  her 
work  and  took  up  the  old  life  again.  She  said  that  as 
if  it  were  not  really  a  desirable  life,  this  going  to  teas, 
dances,  plays,  musicals,  lectures,  and  having  no  cares 
or  worries.  Of  course  I  know  many  of  her  pleasures 
are  forbidden  fruit  for  me,  but  if  I  ever  can  wear 
pretty  clothes  like  hers  and  go  off  to  an  evening 
musical  or  concert  I  know  I'll  be  as  excited  as  a  Jenny 
Wren. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

DIARY — THE  NEW  HOME 

September  16. 

I'VE  dreamed  my  first  dreams  in  Philadelphia.  Such 
dreams  as  they  were !  Whatever  it  was  I  ate  for  sup- 
per it  must  have  been  richer  than  our  Lancaster  County 
sausage  and  fried  mush,  for  I  dreamed  all  night.  My 
old-fashioned  walnut  bed  with  its  red  and  green  calico 
quilt  seemed  to  swing  before  me  while  Mother  Bab- 
and  Aunt  Maria  talked  to  me.  A  clanging  trolley  car 
woke  me  and  I  remembered  that  I  had  been  dreaming 
of  Phares  and  the  tanager's  nest.  I  slept  again  and 
heard  the  strains  of  Royal  Lee's  violin  till  another  car 
clanged  past  and  woke  me.  I  woke  once  to  find  my- 
self saying,  "  Braid  it  straight,  Davie.  Aunt  Maria's 
awful  mad."  When  I  slept  again  I  thought  I  heard 
Royal  Lee  say,  "  We'll  teach  you  to  play  cards,"  and 
speared  tails  and  horned  heads  seemed  mixed  promis- 
cuously with  little  pieces  of  cardboard  bearing  red  and 
black  symbols  and  the  words  "  I'll  get  you  if  you  don't 
watch  out "  rang  in  my  ears.  "  Ugh,  what  awful 
dreams,"  I  thought  as  I  lay  awake  and  listened  for 
sounds  of  activity  in  the  house.  I  missed  Aunt 
Maria's  five  o'clock  call.  The  luxury  of  an  eight 
o'clock  breakfast  couldn't  be  appreciated  the  first 
morning,  as  I  was  wide  awake  at  five.  I'll  soon  learn 


222  PATCHWORK 

to  sleep  later.  There  are  many  things  I  shall  learn 
before  I  go  back  to  the  farm. 

This  morning  Virginia  and  I  started  out  on  a  glori- 
ous adventure,  looking  for  a  boarding  place.  She 
laughed  when  I  called  it  that. 

"  I  like  the  uncertainty  of  it,"  I  told  her.  "  The 
charm  of  the  unknown  appeals  to  me.  I  do  not  know 
under  whose  roof  I  shall  sleep  to-night  yet  I'm  happy 
because  I  know  I  am  going  to  meet  new  people  and 
see  new  things.  Of  course,  if  I  did  not  have  you  to 
help  me  I  would  remember  Aunt  Maria's  dire  tales  of 
the  evils  and  dangers  of  a  big  city  and  should  feel 
afraid.  As  it  is,  I  feel  only  curious  and  gay.  No 
matter  where  I  find  a  place  to  live  it's  bound  to  be 
quite  different  from  the  farm,  not  better,  necessarily, 
but  different." 

But  my  "  high  hopes  of  youth  "  received  a  jolt  at 
the  very  first  interview  with  a  boarding-house  mistress. 
She  wouldn't  take  young  ladies  who  were  studying 
music,  their  practice  would  annoy  the  other  boarders. 
I  had  never  thought  of  that ! 

The  second  quest  was  equally  unsatisfactory.  One 
room  was  vacant,  a  pleasant  room — at  twelve  dollars 
a  week!  The  sum  left  me  speechless.  Virginia  had 
to  explain  that  the  amount  was  a  trifle  more  than  I 
expected  to  pay. 

The  third  proved  to  be  a  smaller  house  on  a  nar- 
rower street.  A  charming  old  lady  led  us  into  a  sit- 
ting-room. All  my  life  I've  been  accustomed  to  the 
proverbial  cleanliness  of  the  Pennsylvania  Dutch  but 
I'm  certain  I  never  saw  a  place  as  clean  as  that  house. 


DIARY—THE  NEW  HOME  223 

I  said  something  like  that  to  its  mistress  and  she  in- 
formed me  with  a  gentle  firmness  I  never  heard  before 
that  she  expected  every  guest  in  her  house  to  help  to 
keep  it  in  that  condition.  She  had  several  rules  she 
wanted  all  to  obey,  so  that  the  sunshine  would  not  have 
a  chance  to  fade  the  rugs  and  the  dust  from  the  street 
could  not  ruin  things.  I  knew  I  would  not  be  happy 
there.  I  like  clean  rooms,  but  if  it's  a  matter  of 
choosing  between  foul  air  without  dust  and  fresh  air 
with  dust  I'll  take  the  dust  every  time.  I'd  feel  like  a 
funeral  to  live  in  a  house  where  the  curtains  and 
shades  were  down  every  day,  summer  and  winter,  to 
keep  the  sunshine  out  of  the  rooms  and  prevent  the 
jade-green  and  china-blue  and  old-rose  of  the  rugs 
from  fading. 

The  fourth  place  was  in  suburban  Philadelphia,  fifty 
minutes'  ride  from  the  heart  of  the  city.  It  was  a  big 
colonial  house  set  in  a  great  yard,  a  relic  of  the  days 
when  gardens  still  flourished  in  the  city  and  the  breath- 
ing spaces  allotted  to  householders  were  larger  than  at 
the  present  time.  As  we  went  up  the  shrubbery-bor- 
dered walk  to  the  pillared  porch  I  said,  "  I  want  to  live 
here." 

Mrs.  McCrea,  the  boarding-house  mistress,  did  not 
object  to  the  music,  provided  I  took  the  large  room  on 
the  third  floor  and  did  all  my  practicing  between  the 
hours  of  eight  and  five,  when  the  other  boarders  were 
gone  to  business.  The  price  of  the  room  is  seven  dol- 
lars a  week. 

I  took  the  room  at  once,  before  Mrs.  McCrea  had 
any  chance  of  changing  her  mind.  I  thought  it  was  a 


224  PATCHWORK 

very  pleasant  room,  with  its  two  windows  looking  out 
on  the  green  yard. 

But  later,  after  Virginia  had  gone  and  I  was  left 
alone  in  the  room,  the  queerest  feeling  came  over  me. 
I  never  knew  what  it  meant  to  be  homesick,  but  I 
think  I  had  a  touch  of  it  this  afternoon  in  this  room. 
I  hated  this  place  for  about  half  an  hour.  I  saw  that 
the  paint  is  soiled,  the  rug  worn,  the  pictures  cheap, 
the  bed  and  bureau  trimmed  with  gingerbready  scrolls 
and  knobs.  It's  so  different  from  the  blue  and  white 
room  I  slept  in  last  night,  so  different  from  my  plain, 
old-fashioned  room  at  home.  "  It's  all  right,"  I  said 
to  myself,  half  crying,  "  but  it's  so  different." 

Fortunately  the  word  different  struck  a  responsive 
chord  in  my  memory.  I  remembered  that  I  wanted 
different  things,  and  smiled  again  and  dashed  the  tears 
away.  I  arranged  my  own  pictures  and  few  belong- 
ings about  the  room  and  felt  more  at  home.  After  I 
had  dressed  and  stood  ready  to  go  down  for  my  first 
dinner  in  my  new  home  I  felt  happier.  To  be  living, 
to  be  young  and  enthusiastic,  to  possess  the  colossal 
courage  of  youth,  was  enough  to  bring  happiness  into 
my  heart  again.  I'm  going  to  like  this  place.  I'm 
going  to  work  and  play  and  live  in  this  wonderful  city. 

Mrs.  McCrea  introduced  the  "  New  boarder  "  and  I 
took  my  assigned  place  at  a  long  table  in  the  dining- 
room.  I  remembered  that  I  once  read  that  the  average 
boarding-house  is  a  veritable  school  for  students  of 
human  nature.  I  wondered  what  I  would  learn  from 
the  people  I  met  there.  The  fat  man  across  the  table 
from  me  gave  me  no  opportunity  for  any  mental  ram- 


DIARY—THE  NEW  HOME  225 

blings.  He  launched  me  right  into  conversation  by 
asking  my  opinion  of  the  war  in  Europe  and  whether 
or  not  we  would  be  dragged  into  the  trouble. 

"  Really,"  I  answered  him,  "  I  don't  know  much 
about  it.  I  don't  think  of  it  any  more  than  I  can 
help." 

Of  course  that  was  the  wrong  thing  to  say.  It 
started  a  deluge.  A  studious-looking  woman  wearing 
heavy  tortoise-shell  rimmed  spectacles  took  my  answer 
as  a  personal  affront.  "  Why  not,  Miss  Metz  ?  "  she 
demanded.  "  Why  should  we  not  think  about  it  ?  We 
women  of  America  need  to  wake  up !  In  this  country 
we  are  lolling  in  ease  and  safety  while  other  nations 
bleed  and  die  that  we  might  remain  safe.  We  have  no 
thoughts  higher  than  our  hats  or  deeper  than  our 
boots  if  the  catastrophe  across  the  sea  does  not  waken 
in  us  an  earnest  desire  to  help  the  stricken  nations." 

Others  took  up  the  argument  and  I  sat  quiet  and 
helpless,  for  I  know  too  little  about  the  cause  and  prog- 
ress of  the  war  to  talk  intelligently  about  it.  A  sense 
of  responsibility  grazed  my  soul.  I  wished  I  were  able 
to  help  France  and  Belgium,  but  what  can  I  do  ?  The 
constant  harping  on  the  subject  of  war  irritated  me.  I 
felt  relieved  when  a  young  girl  near  me  asked,  "  Miss 
Metz,  do  you  like  the  movies?  There's  a  place  near 
here  where  they  show  fine  pictures,  funny  ones  to  make 
you  forget  the  war  for  several  hours,  at  least." 

On  the  whole,  I  think  I'm  going  to  like  life  at  Mrs. 
McCrea's  boarding-house.  I  hear  the  views  of  so 
many  different  sorts  of  people.  And  it  certainly  is 
different  from  my  life  on  the  farm. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

DIARY — THE  MUSIC  MASTER 

September  ip. 

MY  four  days  in  Philadelphia  have  just  been  one  ex- 
clamation point  after  another!  The  most  wonderful 
thing  happened  to  me  last  night!  Mrs.  Lee  invited  me 
over  for  dinner.  I  glided  through  the  courses  a  little 
more  gracefully — one  can  learn  if  the  will  is  there.  I 
always  loved  dainty  things.  I  suppose  that  is  why  I 
delight  in  the  Lee  home  and  am  eager  to  adopt  the 
ways  of  my  new  friends. 

After  dinner  Mr.  Lee  played  again.  Of  course  I 
enjoyed  that.  When  I  praised  his  playing  he  said  he 
heard  I'm  a  real  genius  and  asked  me  to  sing  for  them. 
Mr.  Krause,  one  of  the  best  teachers  of  music  in  the 
city,  is  a  friend  of  Royal  and  Virginia  thinks  he  would 
be  the  very  one  to  teach  me.  Mr.  Lee  wrote  to  Mr. 
Krause  this  summer  and  the  music  teacher  promised 
to  take  me  for  a  pupil  if  I  have  a  voice  worth  the 
trouble.  Virginia  had  prepared  me  for  my  meeting 
with  him.  Seems  he's  queer,  odd,  cranky  and  pain- 
fully frank.  But  he  knows  how  to  teach  music  so 
well  that  many  would-be  singers  pray  to  be  taken  into 
his  studio.  Mr.  Lee  said  yesterday  that  Mr.  Krause 
was  expected  home  from  his  vacation  in  a  few  days 


DIARY— THE  MUSIC  MASTER  227 

and  then  he'd  arrange  an  interview.  I  trembled  when 
he  said  that.  What  if  the  great  teacher  did  not  like 
my  voice! 

To-night  when  Mr.  Lee  asked  me  to  sing  I  selected 
a  simple  song.  As  I  sat  down  before  the  baby  grand 
piano  the  words  of  the  old  song  "  Sweet  and  Low  " 
came  to  me.  I  would  sing  that  until  I  gained  courage 
and  confidence  to  sing  a  harder  selection.  I  played 
from  memory.  As  I  sang  I  was  back  again  at  home, 
singing  to  my  father  at  the  close  of  the  day. 

As  the  last  words  died  on  my  lips  and  I  turned  on 
the  chair  a  man,  a  stranger  to  me,  appeared  in  the 
room.  He  hurried  unceremoniously  to  the  piano  and 
greeted  me,  "  You  can  sing !  " 

I  stared  at  him.  He  was  an  odd-looking,  active 
little  man  of  about  fifty  with  keen  blue  eyes  that  bored 
into  one  like  a  gimlet. 

Mr.  Lee  came  toward  us.  "  Mr.  Krause,"  he  ex- 
claimed, and  presented  to  me  the  music  master,  the 
teacher  for  whom  I  had  dreaded  so  to  sing!  I  was 
filled  with  inarticulate  gladness. 

"  Mr.  Krause,"  I  cried,  grasping  his  outstretched 
hand  in  my  old  impetuous  way,  "  do  you  mean  it  ? 
Can  I  learn  to  sing  ?  " 

"  I  said  so — yes.  You  can  sing.  You  need  to  learn 
how  to  use  your  voice  but  the  voice  is  there." 

"  I'm  so  glad.  I'll  work "  I  couldn't  say  any 

more.  My  joy  was  too  great  to  be  expressed  in  words. 
I  looked  mutely  into  the  wrinkled  face  of  the  man. 

"  Royal  said  he  had  found  a  songbird,"  he  went  on, 
smiling,  "  but  I  was  afraid  he  didn't  know  the  differ- 


228  PATCHWORK 

ence  between  that  and  an  owl — I  see  he  did.  I'll  be 
glad  to  have  you  for  a  pupil.  Royal  can  bring  you  to 
my  studio  to-morrow  at  eleven." 

Mr.  Krause  stayed  a  while  longer  and  the  sitting- 
room-was  gay  with  laughter  and  bright  conversation. 
I  think  I  heard  little  of  it,  though,  for  the  words, 
"  You  can  sing !  "  kept  ringing  in  my  ears  and  crowd- 
ing out  all  other  sounds. 

I  can  sing!  Mr.  Krause  has  told  me  I  can  sing! 
And  I  will  sing !  Some  day  all  the  world  may  stop  to 
hear! 


CHAPTER  XIX 

DIARY — THE  FIRST  LESSON 

September  20. 

I  HAD  my  first  music  lesson  to-day.  Mr.  Lee  called 
for  me  at  the  boarding-house  and  took  me  down-town 
to  the  studio.  After  he  left  I  expected  Mr.  Krause  to 
begin  at  once  on  the  do,  ra,  me,  fa,  sol,  la,  si,  do.  But 
he  thought  differently! 

He  sat  facing  me,  looking  at  me  till  I  felt  like 
running.  "And  so,"  he  said  quietly,  "you  want  to 
learn  to  sing." 

"  Yes,"  was  all  I  could  say. 

"  Well,  you  have  a  voice.  If  you  want  to  work 
like  all  great  singers  have  had  to  work  you  can  be  a 
singer.  You  may  not  set  the  world  afire  with  your 
fame  but  you'll  be  worth  hearing.  You  are  Pennsyl- 
vania Dutch  ?  " 

I  nodded.  What  under  the  sun  did  Pennsylvania 
Dutch  have  to  do  with  my  becoming  a  singer?  I  was 
provoked.  I  didn't  come  to  the  city  and  pay  a  music 
teacher  to  ask  me  foolish  questions. 

"  That  is  good,"  he  went  on  calmly.  "  The  Penn- 
sylvania Dutch  are  not  afraid  of  work  and  that  is 
what  you  need.  The  road  to  success  in  music  is  like 
the  road  to  success  in  any  other  thing,  long  and  hard 


230  PATCHWORK 

and  up-hill  most  of  the  way.  Now  that  Pennsylvania 
Dutch  is  a  funny  language.  It  is  neither  Dutch  nor 
English  nor  German  but  is  like  hash,  a  little  of  this  and 
a  little  of  that.  Do  you  speak  it?  " 

I  said  I  have  spoken  it  all  my  life  but  wished  I  had 
never  been  taught  it. 

"Why?  "he  asked. 

"  Oh  " — I  couldn't  quite  veil  my  irritation — "  it  per- 
verts our  English." 

"  Nothing  uncommon,"  he  answered,  smiling. 
"  Every  part  of  this  great  country  has  some  peculi- 
arities of  speech  common  to  that  particular  section  and 
laughed  at  in  the  other  sections.  Now  we  will  go  on 
with  the  lesson." 

When  he  really  did  begin  to  teach  I  found  him  a 
wonder.  I'm  going  to  enjoy,  thoroughly  enjoy,  my 
music  lessons. 

Mr.  Lee  called  for  me  after  the  lesson.  I  told  him 
I  could  find  the  way  back  to  the  boarding-house  alone, 
but  he  said  he'd  consider  it  a  pleasure  and  privilege  to 
call  for  me.  He  has  the  nicest  manners!  He  never 
needs  to  flounder  around  for  the  right  thing  to  say,  it 
just  slips  from  his  tongue  like  butter.  Aunt  Maria 
always  says,  "  look  out  for  them  smooth  apple-sass 
talkers,"  but  I'm  sure  Mr.  Lee  is  a  gentleman  and  just 
the  right  kind  for  a  country  girl  to  know. 

When  he  called  at  the  studio  this  morning  I  felt 
proud  to  walk  away  with  him.  He  suggested  riding 
home  but  I  told  him  I'd  rather  walk,  at  least  part  of  the 
way.  We  started  up  Chestnut  Street.  What  a  won- 
derful place  that  is!  Such  lovely  stores  I've  never 


DIARY— THE  FIRST  LESSON          231 

seen.  I'm  going  to  sneak  away  some  day  and  visit 
every  one  that  has  women's  belongings  for  sale.  And 
the  clothes  I  saw  on  Chestnut  Street — on  the  women, 
I  mean!  My  own  wardrobe  certainly  is  plain  and 
ordinary  compared  with  the  things  I  saw  women  wear 
to-day.  I  couldn't  help  saying  to  Mr.  Lee,  "  What 
lovely  clothes  Philadelphia  women  wear !  "  He  smiled 
that  wonderful  smile  and  said,  "  Miss  Metz,  a  diamond 
has  no  need  of  a  glittering  case,  it  has  sufficient  bril- 
liancy itself."  I  caught  his  meaning,  I  couldn't  help 
it — he  meant  me!  Now  I  know  I'm  no  beauty,  but 
perhaps  if  I  had  clothes  like  those  I  saw  to-day  I'd 
be  more  attractive.  I  wonder  if  I'll  get  them;  they 
must  cost  lots  of  money. 

As  we  walked  along  Mr.  Lee  told  me  he  knows  I'll 
have  a  wonderful  year  in  the  city,  and  that  he  is  going 
to  help  it  be  the  gladdest,  merriest  one  I've  ever  had. 

"  Oh,  you're  good,"  I  said. 

"  It  must  be  that  goodness  inspires  goodness,"  he 
replied. 

I  didn't  know  what  to  answer.  Men  up  home  never 
say  such  things,  at  least  I  never  heard  them.  Phares 
couldn't  think  of  such  things  to  say  and  David  never 
made  a  "  pretty  speech  "  in  his  life.  I  know  he  thinks 
nice  things  about  me  sometimes  but  he  wouldn't  word 
them  like  Royal  Lee  does.  I  didn't  want  Mr.  Lee  to 
think  I'm  uncommonly  good,  I  told  him  I'm  not. 

"Not  good?"  He  laughed  at  the  idea.  "Why, 
you  are  just  a  sweet,  lovely  young  thing  knowing  noth- 
ing of  evil." 

"  Oh !  "  I  said,  feeling  stupid  before  him,  "  you're 


232  PATCHWORK 

too  polite !  I  never  met  any  one  like  you.  But  I  want 
to  ask  you  about  cards,  playing  cards.  I  can't  see  that 
they  are  wrong  but  Aunt  Maria  and  my  father  and  all 
my  friends  up  home  think  they  are  wicked.  Aunt 
Maria  would  rather  part  with  her  right  hand  than 
play  a  game  of  cards." 

Mr.  Lee  laughed  and  said  he's  surprised  that  I  am 
willing  to  accept  the  beliefs  of  others;  can't  I  decide 
for  myself  what  is  wrong  or  right  ?  Did  I  want  to  be 
narrow  and  goody-goody? 

Of  course  I  don't  want  to  be  like  that,  and  I  told 
him  so. 

He  laughed  again,  a  low,  soft  laugh.  I  never  heard 
a  man  laugh  like  that  before.  When  daddy  laughs  he 
laughs  out  loud,  the  kind  of  laugh  you  join  in  when 
you  hear  it.  And  David  laughs  like  that  too,  a  merry 
laugh  that  sounds,  as  he  says,  like  it's  coming  clean 
from  his  boots.  But  Mr.  Lee's  laugh  is  different.  I 
don't  like  it  as  well  as  the  other  kind,  though  it  fas- 
cinates me.  He  said  he  knows  I  can't  change  my 
ideas  in  a  night  but  he  depends  upon  my  good  sense 
to  decide  what  is  right  for  me  to  do.  He  asked  if  I 
thought  Virginia  and  her  mother  are  wicked.  They 
have  played  cards,  danced,  gone  to  theatres,  all  their 
lives.  If  I  hope  to  have  a  really  enjoyable  time  in 
the  city  I  must  do  the  same.  He  said,  too,  that  I'll 
soon  see  that  many  of  the  teachings  of  the  country 
churches  are  antiquated  and  entirely  too  narrow  for 
this  day. 

Dancing — I  shuddered  at  the  word,  but  I  didn't  tell 
him  how  I  feel  about  it.  Aunt  Maria  says  dancing  is 


DIARY— THE  FIRST  LESSON  233 

even  worse  than  playing  cards.  Why  did  he  tempt 
me?  I  don't  want  to  do  wicked  things,  but  when  he 
mentioned  forbidden  pleasures  I  felt,  somehow,  that 
I  wanted  to  do  what  Virginia  does  and  have  a  good 
time  with  her  and  her  friends.  That  would  be  dread- 
ful! What  am  I  thinking  of!  Is  my  head  turned 
already?  Can  the  evil  of  the  world  have  exerted  its 
influence  upon  me  so  soon  ?  Of  course,  if  I  become  a 
great  singer  I'll  naturally  have  to  live  a  life  different 
from  the  narrow,  restricted  life  of  the  farm.  I  must 
live  a  broader,  freer  life.  But  for  a  while,  at  least, 
I'll  have  to  be  the  same  old  Phoebe  Metz.  I  tried  to 
tell  Mr.  Lee  something  like  that,  and  he  quoted, 

"  If  you  become  a  nun,  dear, 

A  friar  I  will  be ; 
In  any  cell  you  run,  dear, 
Pray  look  behind  for  me.'' 

Are  city  men  always  free  like  that?  Is  it  the  way 
of  the  new  world  I  have  entered?  Before  I  could 
think  of  a  suitable  answer  he  said  lightly,  "  But  before 
you  turn  mm  let  me  buy  you  some  flowers." 

We  stopped  at  a  floral  shop.  Such  flowers!  I've 
never  seen  their  equal !  I  exclaimed  in  many  O's  as  I 
paused  by  the  window,  but  I  felt  my  cheeks  flush  at 
the  idea  of  having  him  buy  any  of  the  lovely  flowers 
for  me. 

"  Come  inside,"  he  said.     "  What  do  you  like?  " 

"  I  love  them  all,"  I  told  him  as  we  stood  before  the 
array  of  blossoms.  "  I  think  I  like  the  yellow  rose- 
buds best,  though.  We  have  some  at  home  on  the 
farm  but  they  bloom  only  in  June." 


234  PATCHWORK 

I  detected  an  odd  smile  on  his  lips.  What  was 
wrong?  Had  I  committed  a  breach  of  etiquette? 
Was  it  wrong  to  mention  farms  in  a  city  floral  shop? 
But  his  courteous,  attentive  manner  returned  in  an 
instant.  He  watched  me  pin  the  yellow  roses  on  my 
coat,  smiled,  and  led  me  outside  again.  I  felt  proud 
as  any  queen,  for  those  were  the  first  flowers  any  man 
ever  bought  for  me. 


CHAPTER  XX 

DIARY — SEEING  THE  CITY 

October  2. 

I  HAVE  been  seeing  Philadelphia.  Mr.  Lee  teasingly 
told  me  that  most  newcomers  want  to  "  do  "  the  city  so 
he  and  Virginia  would  take  me  round.  They  took  me 
to  see  all  the  places  I  studied  about  in  history  class. 
I've  done  the  Betsy  Ross  House,  Franklin's  Grave, 
Old  Christ  Church  and  Old  Swede's  Church.  I  like 
them  all.  Best  of  all  I  like  Independence  Hall,  with 
its  wonderful  stairways  and  wide  window  sills  and, 
most  important,  its  grand  old  Liberty  Bell  and  its 
history. 

Yesterday  Mr.  Lee  took  me  to  Memorial  Hall  in 
Fairmount  Park.  I  like  the  pictures  and  oh,  I  looked 
long  at  a  white  marble  statue  of  Isaac,  his  hands  bound 
for  the  sacrifice.  The  face  is  beautiful.  Royal  Lee 
was  amused  at  my  interest  in  it  and  took  me  off  to  see 
the  rare  Chinese  vases.  We  wandered  around  among 
the  cases  of  glassware  and  then  I  found  a  case  with 
valuable  Stiegel  glass,  made  in  my  own  Lancaster 
County.  I  was  proud  of  that!  We  went  through 
Horticultural  Hall  and  stopped  to  see  the  lovely 
sunken  gardens,  with  their  fall  flowers. 

I  like  to  go  about  with  Royal  Lee.  He  is  so  ef- 
ficient. Crowds  seem  to  fall  back  for  him.  He  has 
the  attractive,  masterful  personality  that  everybody 


236  PATCHWORK 

recognizes.  I  feel  a  reflected  glory  from  his  presence. 
We  have  grown  to  be  great  friends  in  an  amazingly 
short  time.  Our  music,  our  appreciation  of  each 
other's  ability,  has  strengthened  the  bond  between  us. 
Mrs.  Lee  sends  me  many  invitations  for  dinner  and 
week-ends  in  her  beautiful  home,  so  that  Mr.  Lee  and 
I  are  already  well  acquainted.  He  has  asked  me  to 
call  him  Royal  and  if  he  might  call  me  Phoebe.  I've 
told  him  all  about  my  life  on  the  farm,  my  friends  up 
there,  and  the  plans  and  dreams  of  my  heart.  He  likes 
to  tease  me  and  call  me  a  little  Quakeress,  but  I  don't 
enjoy  that  for  he  does  it  in  a  way  I  don't  like.  It 
sounds  as  if  he's  scoffing  at  the  plain  people.  When 
I  told  him  about  the  meeting  house  and  described  the 
service  he  laughed  and  said  that  a  religion  like  that 
might  do  for  a  little  country  place  but  it  would  never 
do  in  a  city.  I  bridled  at  that  and  tried  to  tell  him 
about  the  wholesome,  useful  lives  those  people  up 
home  lead,  how  much  good  a  woman  like  Mother  Bab 
can  do  in  the  world.  But  he  could  not  be  easily  con- 
vinced. He  thinks  they  are  crude  and  narrow.  When 
I  told  him  they  are  lovely  and  fine  he  challenged  me 
and  asked  if  I  am  willing  to  wear  plain  clothes  and 
renounce  all  pleasures,  jewelry  and  becoming  raiment. 
I  had  to  tell  him  I'm  not  ready  for  that  yet,  and  he 
smiled  triumphantly.  He  predicted  I'll  play  cards  and 
dance  before  the  winter  ends.  I  don't  like  him  when 
he's  so  flippant.  I  want  to  be  loyal  to  my  home  teach- 
ing but  I  see  more  clearly  every  day  how  great  is  the 
difference  between  the  pleasures  sanctioned  by  my 
people  and  those  Virginia  and  her  friends  enjoy. 


DIARY— SEEING  THE  CITY  237 

There's  a  mystery  somewhere  I  can't  solve.  Like 
Omar,  I  "  evermore  come  out  at  the  same  door  where 
in  I  went." 

October  29. 

To-day  we  went  for  a  long  drive  along  the  Wissa- 
hickon.  The  woods  are  bronze  and  scarlet  now.  The 
wild  asters  made  me  homesick  for  Lancaster  County. 
I  wanted  to  get  out  of  the  car  and  walk  but  Virginia 
and  her  friends  wouldn't  join  me.  I  wanted  to  bury 
my  nose  in  the  golden  rod  and  asters — and  get  nay 
fever,  one  of  the  girls  told  me — and  I  just  ached  to 
push  my  way  through  the  tangled  bushes  along  the 
road  and  let  the  golden  leaves  of  the  hickory  and 
beeches  brush  my  face.  It  seems  that  most  city  people 
I  have  met  don't  know  how  to  enjoy  nature.  They 
have  a  nodding- from-a-motor-acquaintance  with  it  but 
I  like  a  real  handshake-friendship  with  it.  I  just 
wished  David  were  here  to-day !  He'd  have  taken  my 
hand  and  run  me  to  the  top  of  the  hill  and  picked  a 
branch  of  scarlet  maple  to  carry  with  my  goldenrod 
and  asters.  Well,  I  can't  have  the  penny  and  the 
cake.  I  want  to  be  in  the  city,  of  course  that's  the 
thing  I  most  desire  at  present — I  really  am  having  a 
good  time. 

In  the  evening  we  went  to  Holy  Trinity  Church. 
The  organ  recital  gripped  my  soul.  I  wanted  it  to 
last  for  hours.  And  yet  when  it  was  over  and  the 
rector  stood  before  us  and  preached  one  of  his  im- 
pressive sermons  I  was  just  as  much  interested  as  I 
had  been  in  the  music.  There's  a  feeling  of  restful 


238  PATCHWORK 

calm  comes  to  me  in  a  big  dim  church  with  stained 
glass  windows.  We  stopped  in  the  Cathedral  one  day 
last  week.  That  is  a  wonderful  place,  too.  I  like 
the  idea  of  having  churches  open  all  the  time  for 
prayer  and  meditation.  I'm  learning  so  many  new 
ideas  these  days.  If  I  ever  do  wear  the  plain  dress 
I'm  sure  of  one  thing,  I'll  be  broad-minded  enough  to 
respect  the  beliefs  of  other  persons. 

November  n. 

I  can  put  another  red  mark  on  my  calendar.  I 
heard  the  great  Irish  Tenor!  Glory,  what  a  voice! 
It's  the  kind  can  echo  in  your  ears  to  your  dying  day 
and  follow  you  with  its  sweetness  everywhere  you  go ! 
I  have  been  humming  those  lovely  Irish  songs  all  day. 

But  before  the  recital  my  heart  was  heavy.  I  have 
no  evening  gown,  no  evening  wrap,  so  I  couldn't  join 
the  box  party  to  which  one  of  Virginia's  friends  in- 
vited us.  I  meant  to  stay  at  home  and  not  break  up 
the  party,  but  Royal  insisted  upon  buying  two  tickets 
in  a  section  of  the  opera  house  where  a  plainer  dress 
would  do.  In  the  end  I  allowed  myself  to  be  per- 
suaded by  him  and  we  two  went  to  the  recital  alone. 
When  that  tenor  voice  sounded  through  the  place  I 
forgot  all  about  my  limited  wardrobe.  I  could  hear 
him  sing  if  I  were  dressed  in  calico  and  think  of  noth- 
ing but  his  singing. 

November  12. 

I  wrote  letters  to-day.  Mother  Bab  and  David 
write  such  lovely  ones  to  me  that  I  have  to  try  hard 


DIARY— SEEING  THE  CITY  239 

to  keep  up  my  end  of  it.  Sometimes  David  tells  me 
he  is  anxious  to  supply  me  with  the  beet  juice,  cream 
and  flour  whenever  I'm  ready  to  begin  the  prima  donna 
act.  I  can  hear  his  laugh  when  I  read  the  letter. 
Sometimes  he's  serious  and  talks  about  the  crops  of 
their  farm  and  tells  me  the  community  news  like  an 
old  grandmother.  Phares  Eby  writes  me  an  occasional 
letter,  a  stilted  little  note  that  sounds  just  like  Phares. 
It  always  has  some  good  advice  in  it.  Aunt  Maria's 
letters  and  daddy's  come  every  week.  I'd  feel  lost 
without  them.  I  like  to  feel  that  everybody  I  care  for 
at  home  is  interested  in  and  cares  for  me  even  if  I  am 
in  Philadelphia. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

DIARY — CHRYSALIS 

December  j. 

I'M  as  miserable  as  any  mortal  can  be!  Oh,  I'm 
still  having  a  good  time  going  around  seeing  the  city, 
visiting  the  stores  and  museums,  practicing  hard  in 
music,  pleasing  my  teacher.  But  just  the  same,  I'm 
not  happy.  The  reason  is  this:  I  want  pretty  gowns 
like  Virginia  wears,  I  want  to  dance  and  play  cards 
and  see  real  plays.  I  dare  say  I'm  a  contemptible 
sinner  to  want  all  that  after  the  way  I've  been  brought 
up.  I  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  all  the  wonderful 
things  I  enjoy  in  this  big  city  but  I'm  not. 

Last  week  Virginia  entertained  the  Bridge  Club  and 
tried  to  persuade  me  to  learn  to  play  and  come  to  the 
party.  Royal  was  provoked  about  it.  He  thinks  I 
should  learn  to  play.  I  told  him  I  should  have  no 
peace  if  I  learned  to  do  such  things. 

"  Peace,"  he  scorned,  "  no  one  has  peace  these  days. 
The  whole  world  is  in  a  turmoil.  Do  you  think  your 
little  Quaker-like  girls  of  Lancaster  County  have  peace 
these  days  ?  " 

"  They  have  peace  of  mind  and  conscience." 

"  But  that,"  he  said,  "  is  the  peace  that  touches  those 


DIARY— CHRYSALIS  241 

who  live  in  selfish  solitude.  The  virtue  that  dwells  in 
the  hearts  of  those  who  retire  into  hermitages  is  a 
negative  virtue." 

"  You  speak  like  a  seer,  a  philosopher,"  I  told  him. 

"  Like  a  rational  human  being,  I  hope,"  he  said 
petulantly.  "  But  the  thoughts  are  not  original.  I  am 
merely  echoing  the  opinion  of  sane  thinkers.  I  have 
no  appreciation  of  the  foolish  and  useless  sacrifice  you 
are  persistently  making.  We  were  not  put  on  this 
planet  to  be  dull  nuns  and  monks.  We  have  red  blood 
racing  through  our  veins  and  were  not  intended  for 
sluggishness." 

"Yes— but " 

He  went  off  peeved  at  my  refusal  to  do  as  he  wished. 

What  can  I  do?  Shall  I  capitulate?  I  have 
wrestled  with  my  desire  for  pleasure  until  I'm  tired  of 
the  struggle.  My  old  contentment  has  deserted  me. 
I'm  restless  and  dissatisfied,  scarcely  knowing  what  is 
right  or  wrong. 

Next  day. 

I'm  happy  again.  Being  on  the  fence  grows  mighty 
uncomfortable  after  a  while,  so  I  jumped  across.  I 
have  decided  to  become  a  butterfly ! 

I  had  luncheon  to-day  with  Virginia.  She  had  to 
run  off  to  one  of  her  Bridge  Clubs  so  I  offered  to  mend 
the  lace  on  one  of  her  gowns  while  she  was  gone.  I 
was  alone  in  the  sitting-room  that  adjoins  Virginia's 
bedroom.  I  love  that  little  sitting-room.  Virginia 
and  I  spend  many  happy  hours  in  it  when  we  want  to 
get  away  from  everybody  and  have  a  long  chat.  I 


242  PATCHWORK 

like  its  big  comfortable  winged  chairs  by  the  cheery 
open  fire. 

I  dreamed  a  while  before  the  fire,  the  gown  across 
my  knees.  It's  a  pink  gown,  that  scarcely  defined  pink 
of  a  sea  shell.  Virginia  had  often  tempted  me  to  try 
it  on  and  see  how  well  I'd  look  in  a  dress  of  that  kind. 
The  temptation  came  to  do  it.  I  jumped  up  in  sudden 
determination.  I  would  put  it  on!  I'd  see  for  once 
how  I  looked  in  a  real  gown.  I  ran  to  Virginia's  room 
to  the  low  dressing  table.  My  hands  trembled  as  I 
opened  the  tight  coils  of  my  hair  and  shook  it  until 
it  seemed  to  nod  exultingly.  I  fluffed  the  curls  loosely 
over  my  forehead  and  twisted  the  hair  into  a  fashion- 
able knot.  Then  I  took  off  my  plain  blue  serge  dress 
and  slipped  the  pink  one  over  my  head.  The  soft 
draperies  clung  to  me,  the  gossamer  lace  lay  upon  my 
breast  like  a  silken  mist.  I  was  beautiful  in  that  gown 
and  I  knew  it.  It  was  my  hour  of  appreciation  of  my 
own  charm. 

Later  I  lifted  the  dress  and  saw  my  plain  calfskin 
shoes.  I  smiled  but  soon  grew  sober  as  I  thought 
that  the  incongruity  between  gown  and  shoes  was  no 
greater  than  that  between  the  gown  and  the  girl — the 
girl  who  was  reared  to  wear  plain  clothes  and  be  honest 
and  unpretentious.  But  honesty — that  is  the  rock  to 
which  I  cling  now.  I  am  going  to  be  honest  with 
myself  and  have  my  share  of  happiness  while  I'm 
young. 

I  went  back  again  to  the  fire,  still  wearing  the  bor- 
rowed gown.  Virginia  found  me  there  several  hours 
later.  When  she  came  in  and  saw  me,  a  gorgeous 


DIARY— CHRYSALIS  243 

butterfly,  she  said,  she  was  very  happy.  She  would 
have  me  go  down  to  her  mother  and  Royal.  I  shrank 
from  it  but  she  said  I  might  as  well  become  accustomed 
to  being  stared  at  when  I  was  so  dazzling  and  beautiful. 
I  went  down,  feeling  almost  as  much  of  a  culprit  as 
I  did  the  day  Aunt  Maria  surprised  me  at  playing 
prima  donna  and  marched  me  in  to  the  quilting  party. 

Mrs.  Lee  was  lovely.  She  is  sure  I  deserve  to  be 
happy  in  my  youth.  Royal  went  mad.  "  Ye  Gods !  " 
he  cried  as  he  ran  to  me  and  grasped  my  hands.  "You 
take  my  breath  away !  You  are  like  this ! "  He 
seized  his  violin  and  began  to  play  the  Spring  Song. 
The  quivering  ecstasy  of  spring,  the  mating  calls  of 
robins  and  orioles,  the  rushing  joy  of  bursting  blos- 
soms, the  delicate  perfume  of  violets  and  trailing 
arbutus,  the  dazzling  shafts  of  sunlight  pierced  by 
silver  showers  of  capricious  April — all  echoed  in  the 
melody  of  the  violin. 

"  You  are  like  that,  that  is  you !  "  he  said  as  he  laid 
his  instrument  aside.  His  words  were  very  sweet  to 
me.  The  future  beckons  into  sunlit  paths  of  joy. 

So  I  have  departed  from  the  teachings  of  my  child- 
hood and  turned  to  the  so-called  vanities  of  the  world. 
I  am  going  to  grasp  my  share  of  happiness  while  I  can 
enjoy  them. 

When  I  went  up-stairs  again  to  take  off  the  borrowed 
gown  I  was  already  planning  the  new  clothes  I  want 
to  buy.  I  must  have  a  pink  crepe  georgette,  a  pale, 
pale  blue — just  as  I'm  writing  this  there  flashes  to  my 
mind  one  of  those  old  Memory  Gems  I  learned  in 
school  on  the  hill. 


244  PATCHWORK 

"  But  pleasures  are  like  poppies  spread, — 
You  seize  the  flower,  its  bloom  is  shed; 
Or  like  the  snow  fall  on  the  river, 
A  moment  white,  then  melts  forever." 

I  wonder,  is  there  always  a  fly  in  the  ointment ! 


CHAPTER  XXII 

DIARY — TRANSFORMATION 

December  15. 

A  FEW  days  can  make  a  difference  in  one's  life. 
I'm  well  on  the  way  of  being  a  real  butterfly.  I  have 
bought  new  dresses,  a  real  evening  gown  and  a  lovely 
silk  dress  to  wear  to  the  Bridge  Club.  It's  lucky  I 
saved  my  money  these  three  months  and  had  a  nice 
surplus  to  buy  these  new  things. 

Royal  is  teaching  me  to  play  cards.  He  says  I  take 
to  them  like  a  duck  to  water.  Virginia  and  he  are 
giving  me  dancing  lessons.  I  love  to  dance!  The 
same  spirit  that  prompted  me  to  skip  when  I  wore  sun- 
bonnets  is  now  urging  me  on  to  the  dance.  In  a  few 
weeks  I'll  be  ready  to  join  in  the  pleasures  of  my  new 
friends.  After  the  Christmas  holidays  the  city  will 
be  gay  until  the  Lenten  season. 

January  5. 

I  went  home  for  Christmas  and  I  suppose  I  man- 
aged to  make  everybody  there  unhappy  and  worried. 
I  couldn't  let  them  think  I  am  the  same  quiet  girl  and 
not  tell  them  about  the  cards  and  dancing.  Daddy 
was  hurt,  but  he  didn't  scold  me.  He  said  plainly  that 
he  does  not  approve  of  my  course,  that  he  thinks  cards 


246  PATCHWORK 

and  dancing  wicked.  He  added  that  I  had  been  taught 
the  difference  between  right  and  wrong  and  was  old 
enough  to  see  it.  Perhaps  he  thinks  I'll  "  run  my 
horns  off  quicker  "  if  I'm  let  go,  as  Aunt  Maria  often 
says  about  people.  But  she  didn't  say  that  about  me. 
She  made  up  for  what  daddy  didn't  say.  She  begged 
him  to  make  me  stay  at  home  away  from  the  wicked 
influences  of  the  city.  I  had  the  hardest  time  to  keep 
calm  and  not  say  mean  things  to  her.  She's  ashamed 
of  me  and  afraid  people  up  there  will  find  out  how 
worldly  I  am.  I  had  to  tell  Mother  Bab  too.  I  know 
I  hurt  her.  She  was  so  gentle  and  lovely  about  it  that 
I  felt  half  inclined  to  tell  her  I'd  give  up  everything  she 
didn't  approve  of,  just  to  please  her.  But  I  didn't.  I 
couldn't  do  that  when  I  know  I'm  not  doing  anything 
wrong.  She  changed  the  subject  and  inquired  about 
my  music.  In  that  I  was  able  to  please  her.  She 
shared  my  joy  when  I  told  her  of  my  critical  music 
master's  approval  of  my  progress.  I  sang  some  of 
my  new  songs  for  her  and  she  kissed  me  with  the  same 
love  and  tenderness  she  has  always  had  for  me.  I 
wonder  sometimes  whether  I  could  possibly  have  loved 
my  own  mother  more.  Somehow,  as  I  sat  with  her  in 
her  dear,  cozy  sitting-room  I  hated  the  cards  and  the 
dancing  and  half  wished  I  had  never  left  the  farm. 
But  that's  a  narrow,  provincial  view  to  take.  Now 
that  I'm  back  again  I'm  caught  once  more  in  the  whirl. 
Everybody  is  entertaining,  as  if  in  a  frantic  endeavor 
to  be  surfeited  before  Lent  and  thus  be  able  to  endure 
the  dullness  of  that  period  of  suspended  social  activi- 
ties. The  harrowing  tales  of  suffering  France  and 


DIARY— TRANSFORMATION  247 

Belgium  have  occasioned  Benefit  Teas  and  Benefit 
Bridges  and  Benefit  Dances,  all  for  the  aid  of  the  war 
sufferers.  Royal  usually  takes  me  to  the  social  affairs. 
I  enjoy  being;  with  him.  He's  the  most  entertaining 
man  I  ever  met.  He  has  traveled  in  Europe  and  all 
over  our  own  country  and  can  tell  what  he  has  seen. 
He  attracts  attention,  whether  he  speaks  or  plays  or 
is  just  silent.  One  day  he  said  it  would  be  a  pleasure 
to  travel  with  me,  I  enjoy  things  so  and  can  appreciate 
their  beauty.  I  could  scarcely  resist  telling  him  how 
I'd  enjoy  traveling  with  a  man  like  him.  Oh,  I  dream 
wild  dreams  sometimes,  but  I  really  must  stop  doing 
that.  The  present  is  too  wonderful  to  go  borrowing 
joy  from  the  future. 

February  2. 

I'm  all  in  a  fluster.  I  have  to  write  here  what  hap- 
pened to-day.  If  I  had  a  mother  she  could  help  and 
advise  me  but  an  adopted  mother,  even  one  as  dear  and 
near  as  Motlier  Bab,  won't  do  for  such  confidences. 

Royal  and  I  were  sitting  alone  before  the  open  fire- 
place. It's  a  dangerous  place  to  be !  The  glowing  fire 
sends  such  weird  shadows  flickering  up  and  down. 
Its  living  fire  is  sometimes  an  entreating  Circe  waking 
undesirable  impulses,  then  again  it's  a  spirit  that  heals 
and  inspires.  I  love  an  open  fire  but  to-day  I  should 
have  fled  from  it  and  yet — I  think  I'm  glad  I  didn't. 

I  looked  up  suddenly  from  the  gleaming  logs — right 
into  the  eyes  of  Royal.  His  voice  startled  me  as  he 
said,  with  the  strangest  catch  in  his  voice,  that  my  eyes 
are  bluer  than  the  skies.  I  tried  to  keep  my  voice 


248  PATCHWORK 

ordinary  as  I  lightly  told  him  that  some  other  person 
once  told  me  they  are  the  color  of  fringed  gentians — 
could  he  improve  on  that? 

"  You  little  fairy !  "  he  cried.  "  I  can  beat  that ! 
They  are  blue  as  bluebirds !  "  Then  he  went  on  im- 
petuously, telling  me  I  was  a  real  bluebird  of  happi- 
ness, a  bringer  of  joy;  that  the  ancients  called  the 
bluebird  the  emblem  of  happiness,  but  he  knew  the 
blue  of  my  eyes  was  the  real  joy  sign — or  something 
like  that  he  said.  It  startled  me.  I  tried  to  tell  him 
he  must  not  talk  like  that  but  my  words  were  useless. 
He  went  on  to  say  that  the  world  was  bleak  and  un- 
lovely till  I  came  to  Philadelphia  and  wouldn't  I  tell 
him  I  care  for  him. 

Of  course  I  value  his  friendship  and  told  him  so. 
But  he  laughed  and  said  I  was  a  wise  little  girl  but  I 
couldn't  evade  his  question  like  that.  He  said  frankly 
he  doesn't  want  my  friendship,  he  wants  my  love,  he 
must  have  it ! 

I  felt  like  a  helpless  bird.  I  couldn't  answer  him. 
He  looked  at  me,  a  long,  searching  look.  Then  he 
pressed  his  thin  lips  together,  and  a  moment  later, 
threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  his  low  laugh. 

"  Little  bluebird,"  he  said  softly,  "  I  have  frightened 
you  and  I  wouldn't  do  that  for  worlds!  We'll  talk 
it  over  some  other  time,  after  you  have  had  time  to 
think  about  it.  Shall  I  play  for  you?  " 

I  nodded  and  he  began  to  play.  But  the  music 
didn't  soothe  me  as  it  usually  does.  There  were  too 
many  confused  thoughts  in  my  brain.  Did  Royal 
really  love  me?  I  looked  at  his  white  hands  with  the 


DIARY— TRANSFORMATION         249 

long  tapering  nails  and  the  shapely  fingers  and  couldn't 
help  thinking  of  the  strong,  tanned  hands  of  David 
Eby.  I  glanced  at  the  handsome  face  of  the  musician 
with  its  magnetic  charm — swiftly  the  countenance  of 
my  old  playmate  rose  before  me  and  then  slowly  faded: 
David,  boyish  and  comradely;  David,  manly  and 
strong,  without  ever  a  sneer  or  an  unholy  light  upon 
his  face.  Could  I  ever  forget  him?  Could  I  ever 
look  into  the  face  of  any  other  man  and  call  it  the 
dearest  in  the  whole  world  to  me?  Ach — I  shook  my 
head  and  gathered  my  recreant  wits  together!  I'd 
forget  what  he  said  and  attribute  it  to  the  weird  influ- 
ence of  the  firelight. 

I  was  glad  Virginia  came  before  Royal  finished  play- 
ing. She  looked  at  us  keenly.  I  suppose  my  face 
was  flushed.  But  Royal  seldom  loses  his  outward 
calm.  He  answered  her  remarks  in  his  casual  way 
and  listened  with  seeming  interest  to  her  plans  for  a 
pre-Lenten  masquerade  dance  she  wants  to  give.  She 
has  asked  me  to  go  dressed  in  a  plain  dress  and  white 
cap  like  Aunt  Maria  wears.  I  hesitated  about  it  but 
she  has  done  so  much  for  me  that  I  hate  to  refuse. 
So  I've  promised  to  go  to  the  dance  dressed  in  a  plain 
dress  and  cap. 

A  little  later  when  Royal  left  us  alone  Virginia  be- 
gan to  speak  about  him.  She  said  she's  so  glad  we 
have  grown  to  be  friends,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he 
is  so  much  older  than  I  am.  He's  thirty-seven,  she 
told  me.  I'm  surprised  at  that.  I  never  thought  he's 
so  much  older.  She  mentioned  something,  too,  about 
his  being  rather  a  gay  Don  Juan.  I  don't  know  just 


250  PATCHWORK 

what  she  means.  I'm  sure  he's  a  gentleman.  Per- 
haps she  expected  me  to  tell  her  what  Royal  said  to 
me,  but  how  could  I  do  that  when  I  think  it  was  just 
an  impulsive  burst  that  he's  likely  to  forget  by  morn- 
ing. If  he  really  meant  it — but  I  must  stop  dreaming 
all  sorts  of  improbable  dreams !  I've  had  such  a  glori- 
ous time  in  Philadelphia  just  living  and  singing  and 
working  and  playing  that  I  wish  it  hadn't  happened. 
I'm  frightened  when  I  think  that  any  serious  questions 
might  confront  me  here. 

February  10. 

I  guessed  right  when  I  thought  that  Royal  would 
forget  that  foolish  outburst.  He  has  been  perfectly 
lovely  to  me,  taking  me  out  and  buying  me  flowers  and 
telling  me  about  his  trips,  but  he  hasn't  said  one  word 
more  of  sentimental  nature.  I'm  surely  getting  my 
share  of  fun  and  pleasure  these  days.  There  are  so 
many  things  to  enjoy,  so  much  to  learn  from  my 
fellow-boarders  and  every  one  I  meet,  that  the  days 
are  all  too  short.  Between  times  I'm  making  a  dress 
and  cap  for  the  masquerade  dance.  I  hate  sewing.  I 
lost  all  love  for  it  during  my  years  of  calico  patching. 
But  I  don't  mind  making  the  dress  for  I'm  eager  for 
the  dance,  my  first  masquerade  party.  I'm  hoping  for 
a  good  time. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

DIARY — PLAIN  FOR  A  NIGHT 

February  21. 

LAST  night  was  the  masquerade.  I  wore  the  plain 
gray  dress,  apron  and  cape  and  a  white  cap  on  my 
head.  I  felt  rather  like  a  hypocrite  as  I  looked  at 
myself  in  the  glass,  but  Virginia  said  it  was  just  the 
thing  and  certainly  would  not  be  duplicated  by  any 
other  guest. 

I  was  dressed  early  and  started  down  the  stairs,  my 
black  mask  swinging  from  my  hand.  As  I  rounded 
a  curve  in  the  stairway  I  glanced  casually  down  the 
wide  hall.  The  colored  servant  had  admitted  visitors. 
I  looked  in  that  direction — the  mask  fell  from  my  hand 
and  I  ran  down  the  steps  and  into  the  arms  of  Mother 
Bab !  I  couldn't  say  more  than  "  Oh,  oh !  "  as  I  kissed 
her  over  and  over.  When  she  got  her  breath  she  said 
happily,  "  Phcebe,  you're  plain !  " 

Oh,  how  it  hurt  me!  I  took  her  and  David  to  a 
little  nook  off  the  library  where  we  could  be  alone  and 
then  I  had  to  tell  her  that  I  was  wearing  the  plain 
dress  and  white  cap  as  a  masquerade  dress.  Even 
when  I  told  her  I  learned  to  dance  and  do  things  she 
thinks  are  worldly  there  was  no  look  of  pain  on  her 
face  like  the  look  I  brought  there  as  I  stood  before  her 


252  PATCHWORK 

in  a  dress  she  reverenced  and  told  her  I  wore  it  in  a 
spirit  of  fun.  I'll  never  get  over  being  sorry  for  hurt- 
ing her  like  that.  But  Mother  Bab  rallies  quickly 
from  every  hurt.  She  soon  smiled  and  said  she  under- 
stood. David  came  to  my  aid.  He  assured  his  mother 
that  they  knew  I  could  take  care  of  myself  and  would 
not  do  anything  really  wrong.  I  couldn't  thank  him 
for  his  kindness.  I  felt  suddenly  all  weepy  and  tear- 
ful. But  David  began  to  talk  on  in  his  old  friendly 
way  and  tell  about  the  home  news  and  about  the  Big 
Doctor  he  had  taken  Mother  Bab  to  see  in  Philadelphia 
and  how  he  hoped  she  would  soon  be  able  to  see  per- 
fectly again.  While  he  talked  Mother  Bab  and  I  had 
a  chance  to  recover  a  bit.  I  noted  a  quick  shadow 
pass  over  her  face  as  he  spoke  about  her  eyes — was 
she  less  hopeful  about  them  than  he  was?  Had  the 
Big  Doctor  told  her  something  David  did  not  hear? 
But  no !  I  dismissed  the  thought — Mother  Bab  could 
not  go  blind!  She  would  never  be  asked  to  suffer 
that!  I  soon  forgot  my  troublesome  thoughts  as  she 
hastened  to  say  that  perhaps  her  eyes  would  improve 
more  quickly  than  the  doctor  promised.  Then  she 
changed  the  subject — "  Now,  Phoebe,  I  hope  I  didn't 
hurt  you  about  the  dress.  I  guess  I  looked  at  you  as 
if  I  wanted  to  eat  you.  I  love  you  and  wouldn't  hurt 
you  for  anything.'* 

"  Mother  Bab !  "  I  gave  her  a  real  hug  like  I  used 
to  do  when  I  ran  barefooted  up  the  hill  with  some 
childish  perplexity  and  she  helped  me.  "  You're  an 
angel !  Mother  Bab,  David,  having  a  good  time  won't 
hurt  me.  Our  views  up  home  are  too  narrow.  It's 


DIARY—PLAIN  FOR  A  NIGHT        253 

all  right  to  expect  older  people  to  do  nothing  more  ex- 
citing than  go  to  Greenwald  to  the  store,  to  church 
every  Sunday,  to  an  occasional  quilting  or  carpet-rag 
party,  and  to  Lancaster  to  shop  several  times  a  year, 
but  the  younger  generation  needs  other  things." 

"  I  guess  you  mean  it  can't  be  Lent  all  the  time  for 
you,"  she  suggested  with  a  smile. 

"  I  just  knew  you'd  understand." 

Just  then  Royal  began  to  play  and  the  music  floated 
in  to  us.  It  was  Traumerei.  Mother  Bab's  tired  face 
relaxed  as  she  leaned  back  to  listen  to  the  piercingly 
sweet  melody.  David  looked  at  me — I  knew  he  was 
asking  whether  the  player  was  Royal  Lee. 

"  Oh,  Davie,"  Mother  Bab  said  innocently  as  the 
music  ended,  "  if  only  you  could  play  like  that!  " 

"  If  I  could,"  he  said  half  bitterly,  "  but  all  I  can  do 
is  farm.  Are  you  coming  home  this  spring  ? "  he 
asked  me,  as  if  to  forget  the  violin  and  its  player. 

"  I  don't  know.  I'll  probably  stay  here  until  early 
June.  I  may  go  away  with  Virginia  for  part  of  the 
summer." 

"  Not  be  home  for  spring  and  summer ! "  he  said 
dismally.  "  Why,  it  won't  be  spring  without  you ! 
We  can't  go  for  bird-foot  violets  or  arbutus." 

Arbutus — the  name  called  up  a  host  of  memories  to 
me.  "  How  I'd  like  to  go  for  arbutus  this  spring,"  I 
told  him. 

"  Then  come  home  in  April  and  I'll  take  you  to  Mt. 
Hope  for  some." 

"Oh,  David,  will  you?" 

"  I'd  love  to.     We'll  drive  up." 


254  PATCHWORK 

"  I'll  come,"  I  promised.  "  I'll  come  home  for 
arbutus.  Let  me  know  when  they're  out." 

"All  right.  But  I  think  we  must  go  now  or  we'll 
miss  the  train." 

"  Go?"  I  echoed.  "You're  not  going  home  to-night? 
Can't  you  stay?  Mrs.  McCrea  has  vacant  rooms. 
I've  been  so  excited  I  forgot  my  manners.  Let  me 
take  you  to  the  sitting-room  and  introduce  you  to  Mrs. 
Lee  and  Royal.'" 

"Ach,  no,"  Mother  Bab  protested.  "  We  can't  stay 
that  long.  We  just  stopped  in  to  see  you." 

David  looked  at  his  watch.  "  We  must  go  now. 
There's  a  train  at  eight-twenty-one  gets  to  Lancaster 
at  ten- forty-five  and  we'll  get  the  last  car  out  to  Green- 
wald  and  Phares  will  meet  us  and  drive  us  home." 

I  asked  about  the  home  folks  as  I  watched  David 
adjust  Mother  Bab's  shawl.  He  looked  older  and 
worried.  I  suppose  he  was  disappointed  because  the 
Big  Doctor  didn't  promise  a  quick  cure  for  Mother 
Bab's  eyes. 

As  they  said  good-bye  and  left  me  I  wanted  to  run 
after  them  and  ask  them  to  take  me  home,  back  to  the 
simple  life  of  my  people.  But  I  stayed  where  I  was, 
the  earthiest  worldling  in  a  dress  of  unworldliness. 

"  I— I  believe  I'll  take  it  off,"  I  thought  as  I  stood 
in  the  doorway. 

Just  then  Royal  opened  the  door  and  saw  me.  "  Ye 
Gods !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  look  like  a  saint,  Phoebe." 

"  But  I'm  not !     I'm  far  from  being  a  saint !  " 

"  Don't  be  one,  please.  If  you  turn  saint  I  shall  be 
disconsolate.  I  don't  like  saints  of  women  and  I  want 


DIARY— PLAIN  FOR  A  NIGHT        255 

to  keep  on  liking  you,  little  Bluebird.     Remember,  you 
promised  me  the  first  dance." 

"  I  don't  know — I  don't  feel  like  dancing." 
"  Oh,  but  you  must !  You  look  like  a  Quakeress 
but  no  one  expects  you  to  act  like  one  to-night.  I'm 
going  up  to  dress — I'm  going  as  a  monk  to  match  you." 
He  ran  off,  laughing,  and  I  went  in  search  of  Vir- 
ginia. My  heart  was  heavy.  The  sudden  appearance 
of  Mother  Bab  and  David  brought  me  a  vivid  impres- 
sion of  the  contrast  between  their  lives  and  mine  and 
the  thoughts  left  me  worried  and  restless.  What  was 
I  doing?  Was  I  shaping  my  life  in  such  a  way  that 
it  would  never  again  fit  into  the  simple  grooves  of 
country  life?  The  dance  lost  its  charm  for  me.  I 
danced  and  made  merry  and  tried  to  enter  into  the 
gay  spirit  of  the  occasion  but  I  longed  all  the  time  to 
be  with  Mother  Bab  and  David  riding  to  Lancaster 
County. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

DIARY — DECLARATIONS 

March  22. 

SPRING  is  here  but  I'd  never  know  it  if  I  didn't  read 
the  calendar.  I  haven't  seen  a  robin  or  heard  a  song- 
sparrow.  Just  the  same,  I've  had  a  wonderful  time 
these  past  weeks.  Of  course  my  music  gets  first  at- 
tention. I'm  getting  on  well,  though  I'm  beginning  to 
see  what  a  long,  long  time  it  will  take  before  I  become 
a  great  singer.  Since  I  have  heard  really  great  singers 
I  wonder  whether  I  was  not  too  presumptuous  when  I 
thought  I  might  be  one  some  day.  I  went  to  several 
big  churches  lately  and  heard  fine  music. 

I  thought  Lent  would  be  a  dull  season  but  it's  been 
gay  enough  for  me.  There  has  been  unusual  activity, 
Virginia  says,  because  of  so  many  charitable  affairs 
held  for  the  benefit  of  the  war  sufferers. 

I  bought  a  new  spring  hat,  a  dream.  Hope  Aunt 
Maria  never  asks  me  what  I  paid  for  it.  After  wear- 
ing Greenwald  hats  all  my  life  this  one  was  coming 
to  me. 

But  my  thoughts  are  not  all  of  frivolous  matters. 
I  have  taken  advantage  of  some  of  the  opportunities 
Philadelphia  offers  to  improve  my  mind  and  broaden 
my  vision.  I've  been  to  lectures  and  plays  and  en- 
joyed them  all. 

I  asked  Royal  to-day  why  he  never  worked.     He 


DIARY— DECLARATIONS  257 

laughed  and  said  I  was  an  inquisitive  Bluebird.  Then 
he  told  me  his  parents  left  him  enough  money  to  live 
without  working.  He  never  did  a  solid  hour's  real 
work  in  his  whole  life.  With  his  talent  and  his  per- 
sonal attractions  he  might  become  a  famous  musician 
if  he  had  some  odds  to  fight  against  or  some  person  to 
encourage  him  and  make  him  do  his  best.  He  said  he 
knows  he  never  developed  his  talent  to  the  full  extent 
but  that  since  he  knows  me  he  is  playing  better  than 
he  did  before.  I  wonder  if  I  really  am  an  inspiration 
to  him.  I  suppose  a  genius  does  need  a  wife  or 
sympathetic  friend  to  bring  out  the  best  in  him.  He 
has  been  so  lovely,  showing  his  fondness  for  me  in 
many  ways,  but  he  has  never  said  anything  sentimental 
like  he  did  the  day  we  sat  by  the  fire.  Sometimes  he 
does  say  ambiguous  things  that  I  can't  understand. 
He  is  surely  giving  me  a  long  time  to  think  it  over.  I 
like  him  but  I'm  afraid  he's  cynical,  and  it  worries  me. 
There  are  other  things,  too,  to  dim  the  blue  these 
days.  War  clouds  are  threatening.  U-boats  of  Ger- 
many are  sinking  our  vessels.  Where  will  it  all  end  ? 

'April  7. 

War  has  been  declared.  America  is  in  it  at  last.  I 
came  home  to-day  feeling  disheartened  and  sad.  War 
was  the  topic  everywhere  I  went.  Papers,  bulletin- 
boards  flaunted  the  words,  "  The  world  must  be  made 
safe  for  democracy."  People  on  the  streets  and  in 
cars  spoke  about  it,  newsboys  yelled  till  they  were 
hoarse. 

I  stopped  to  see  Virginia  but  she  was  out.     Royal 


258  PATCHWORK 

said  he'd  entertain  me  till  she  returned.  He  laughed 
at  my  tragic  weariness  about  the  war. 

"  I'll  tell  you,  Bluebird,"  he  whispered  as  he  sat  be- 
side me,  "  we'll  talk  of  something  better.  I  love  you." 

The  fire  in  his  eyes  frightened  me.  I  couldn't  look 
at  him.  "  Why  do  you  say  such  things  ?  "  I  asked,  and 
I  couldn't  keep  my  voice  from  trembling. 

That  didn't  hush  him — he  said  some  more.  He  told 
me  how  he  loves  me,  how  he  waited  for  me  all  his  life 
and  wants  me  with  him.  He  quoted  the  verse  I  like 
so  much,  "  Thou  beside  me  singing  in  the  wilderness — 

0  wilderness  were  Paradise  enow !  "     Then  he  asked 
me  frankly  if  I  loved  him. 

I  couldn't  answer  right  away.     Now  that  the  thing 

1  had  dreamed  of  was  actually  happening  I  was  dazed 
and  stupid  and  sat  like  a  bump-on-a-log. 

He  asked  me  again  and  before  I  knew  what  he  was 
doing  he  had  taken  me  into  his  arms  and  kissed  me. 
"  Say  you  love  me,"  he  pleaded. 

I  said  what  he  wanted  to  hear  and  he  kissed  me 
again.  We  were  both  very  happy.  It  is  almost  too 
wonderful  to  believe ! 

A  few  minutes  later  we  heard  Virginia  enter  the  hall 
and  we  came  back  to  earth.  I  know  my  cheeks  still 
burned  but  Royal's  ready  poise  served  him  well.  He 
told  his  cousin  he  had  been  trying  to  make  me  forget 
about  the  war. 

Virginia  probably  thought  my  excitement  was  due 
to  the  war.  She  began  at  once  to  speak  about  it. 
"America  is  in  it  and  we  can't  forget  it.  Every  true 
American  must  help." 


DIARY— DECLARATIONS  259 

"  Do  your  bit,  knit,"  chanted  the  musician. 

She  asked  him  if  he  is  going  to  do  his  bit.  He 
flushed  and  looked  vexed,  then  explained  that  he  can 
neither  knit  nor  fight,  that  he  is  a  musician. 

Virginia  argued  that  if  he  could  play  a  violin  he 
could  learn  to  play  a  bugle,  that  many  of  the  men  who 
will  fight  for  the  flag  are  men  who  have  never  been 
taught  to  fight.  She  spoke  as  if  she  thought  Royal 
should  enlist  in  some  branch  of  government  service 
at  once. 

I  resented  her  words.  "  Do  you  want  Royal  to  go 
to  war  and  be  killed  ?  "  I  asked  her. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said  solemnly,  "  have  you  ever 
heard  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  losing  one's  life  by 
trying  to  save  it?  " 

That  startled  me.  I  realized  then  that  the  war  is 
going  to  be  a  very  serious  matter,  that  there  will  be 
work  for  each  one  of  us  to  do.  But  Royal  laughed 
and  made  me  forget  temporarily  every  solemn,  sad 
thing.  He  told  Virginia  that  she  was  over-zealous, 
that  she  need  not  worry  about  him.  He'd  be  a  true 
American  and  give  his  money  to  help  protect  the  flag. 
We  began  to  play  Bridge  then  and  I  thought  no  more 
about  the  war  for  an  hour  or  two. 

'April  12. 

I  have  learned  to  knit.  Virginia  has  taught  me  and 
we  are  elbow-deep  in  gray  and  khaki  wool.  I  have 
wound  it  and  purled  it  and  worked  on  the  thing  till 
I'm  tasting  fuzz.  But  I  do  want  to  do  the  little  bit 
I  can  to  help  my  country.  This  war  is  a  serious  mat- 


260  PATCHWORK 

ter.  Already  people  are  talking  about  who  is  going 
to  enlist — what  if  David  would  go !  I  hope  he  won't — 
yet  I  don't  want  him  to  be  a  coward.  Oh,  it's  all  too 
confusing  and  terrible  to  think  long  about.  I  try  to 
forget  it  for  a  time  by  remembering  that  Royal  Lee 
cares  for  me.  He  has  told  me  over  and  over  that  he 
loves  me.  Love  must  be  blind,  for  he  thinks  I  am 
beautiful  and  perfect.  I'm  glad  I  look  like  that  to 
him.  We  should  be  happy  when  we  are  married,  for 
we  are  so  congenial,  both  loving  music  and  things  of 
beauty.  It's  queer,  though,  I  have  thought  of  it  sev- 
eral times — he  has  never  mentioned  our  marriage.  I 
suppose  he's  too  happy  in  the  present  to  make  plans  for 
the  future.  But  I  know  he  is  a  gentleman,  therefore 
his  words  of  love  are  synonymous  with  an  offer  of 
marriage.  All  that  will  come  later.  It's  enough  now 
just  to  know  we  care  for  each  other. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

DIARY — "  THE  LINK  MUST  BREAK  AND  THE  LAMP 
MUST  DIE  " 

'April  ij. 

I'M  in  sackcloth  and  ashes.  My  dream  castles  have 
tumbled  down  upon  my  head  and  left  me  bruised  and 
sorrowful.  I'm  awake  at  last!  I'd  like  to  bury  my 
face  in  my  old  red  and  green  patchwork  quilt  and  ask 
forgiveness  for  being  a  fool.  But  I  must  compose 
myself  and  write  this  last  chapter  of  my  romance. 

Last  night  the  "  Singer  with  the  Voice  of  Gold  " 
gave  a  recital  in  the  Academy  of  Music.  Royal  and 
I  helped  to  make  up  a  merry  box  party.  I  felt  f estiye 
and  gay  in  my  lovely  white  crepe  georgette  gown. 
Royal  said  I  looked  like  a  dream  and  that  made  me 
radiant,  I  know. 

As  we  sat  down  I  whispered  to  him  that  I  was  ex- 
cited because  hearing  that  great  singer  has  always  been 
one  of  my  dearest  dreams  and  now  the  dream  was 
coming  true.  He  whispered  back  that  more  of  my 
dreams  would  soon  come  true.  I  made  him  hush,  for 
several  people  were  looking  at  us.  But  his  words  sent 
my  heart  thrilling. 

The  Academy  became  quiet  as  the  singer  appeared, 


262  PATCHWORK 

then  the  audience  gave  her  a  real  Brotherly  Love  wel- 
come and  settled  once  more  into  silence  as  her  beauti- 
ful voice  rose  in  the  place.  The  operatic  selections  were 
beautifully  rendered.  I  thought  her  voice  was  most 
captivating  in  the  simple  songs  everybody  knows. 
Annie  Laurie  had  new  charm  as  she  sang  it.  When 
she  sang  that  Royal  whispered,  "  That  is  what  I  feel 
for  you."  I  smiled  into  his  eyes,  then  turned  again  to 
look  at  the  singer.  Could  I  ever  sing  like  that? 
Would  the  dreams  of  my  childhood  come  true?  It 
seemed  improbable  and  yet — I  had  traveled  a  long  way 
from  the  little  girl  of  the  tight  braids  and  brown  ging- 
ham dresses,  I  thought.  Perhaps  the  future  would 
bring  still  more  wonderful  changes. 

The  hours  in  the  Academy  of  Music  passed  like 
a  beautiful  dream.  I  shrank  from  the  last  song, 
though.  It  was  too  much  like  some  fatal,  dire 
prophecy: 

"  The  cord  is  frayed,  the  cruse  is  dry, 
The  link  must  break,  and  the  lamp  must  die — 
Good-bye  to  hope !    Good-bye,  good-bye !  " 

I  told  Royal  I  didn't  like  it,  it  was  too  much  like 
Cassandra. 

He  laughed  and  said  she  generally  sings  it,  but  that 
it  couldn't  hurt  us — was  I  superstitious? 

"  No,  oh,  no,"  I  declared.  But  I  wished  I  could 
forget  the  words  of  that  song. 

Some  of  the  party  decided  that  a  proper  ending  to 
the  delightful  evening  would  be  a  visit  to  a  fashion- 
able cafe.  I  didn't  care  to  go.  Royal  urged  me  till 


DIARY— "THE  LINK  MUST  BREAK"    263 

I  consented  and  I  soon  found  myself  in  a  beautiful 
place  where  merry  groups  of  people  were  seated  about 
small  tables.  Any  desire  for  food  I  might  have  had 
left  me  as  I  heard  Royal  and  the  other  men  order 
wines  and  highballs. 

"  What  will  you  have,  Phcebe  ?  "  Royal  asked  me. 

I  gasped — "  Why — nothing." 

"  Be  a  sport,"  he  urged,  "  look  around  and  do  as 
the  '  Romans  do.'  " 

I  looked  around.  Some  of  the  women  were  smok- 
ing, others  were  drinking. 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  "  this  is  dreadful.     Let's  go." 

Royal  laughed  and  the  others  teased  me.  One  of 
the  girls  said  I'd  be  doing  all  those  things  before  the 
year  ended.  When  I  declared  I  would  not  Royal  re- 
minded me  that  I  had  said  the  same  about  cards  and 
dancing.  His  words  silenced  me.  I  felt  engulfed  in 
shame  and  deeply  hurt.  How  could  Royal  be  amused 
at  my  discomfiture  if  he  loved  me!  Did  he  love  me? 
Did  I  want  him  to?  Could  I  promise  to  honor  and 
love  him  all  my  life?  But  perhaps  he  was  teasing 
me — ah,  that  was  it!  I  breathed  more  easily  again. 
Royal  was  teasing  me,  sure  of  my  refusal  to  indulge 
in  any  intoxicant.  The  others  ate  and  made  merry 
while  I  toyed  idly  with  the  glass  of  ginger  ale  the 
waiter  brought  me  against  my  wish.  I  mused  and 
dreamed — would  Royal  like  my  people?  Somehow, 
he  seemed  an  incongruity  among  the  dear  ones  at  the 
gray  farmhouse  in  Lancaster  County.  What  would 
he  say  when  we  ate  in  the  kitchen  and  daddy  came  to 
the  table  in  his  shirt  sleeves  ?  Love  can  bridge  greater 


264  PATCHWORK 

chasms  than  that,  I  thought.  When  we  are  mar- 
ried  

"  Royal  Lee,  are  you  ever  going  to  marry?  "  The 
question  broke  into  my  revery. 

I  looked  at  Royal.  There  was  no  rise  of  color  in 
his  handsome  face.  He  returned  my  look  dispas- 
sionately then  turned  to  his  teasing,  inquisitive 
friend. 

"  I'm  a  bachelor  forever,"  he  declared.  "  But  that 
does  not  keep  me  from  loving.  Women  I  care  for 
have  too  much  good  sense  to  think  that  marriage  al- 
ways follows  love.  Ye  Gods,  I  think  love  goes  when 
marriage  comes,  so  you'll  have  no  chance  to  see  my 
love  interred." 

I  clenched  my  hands  under  the  table.  I  felt  my  lips 
go  white.  How  could  he  hurt  me  so  ?  Of  course  our 
love  was  not  a  thing  to  be  paraded  in  a  public  place  but 
if  he  really  cared  for  me  as  I  thought  he  did  he  could 
have  answered  differently.  An  evasive  answer  would 
have  served.  An  hour  ago  he  had  whispered  tender 
words  to  me  and  now  he  frankly  informed  all  present 
that  he  was  a  bachelor  forever.  I  could  not  grasp  the 
full  significance  of  his  words  at  once.  I  was  dazed 
by  the  shock  of  them.  I  wanted  to  get  away  and  be 
alone,  to  cry,  to  think,  to  determine  what  he  had  meant 
by  his  demonstrations  of  love  if  he  did  not  hope  to  win 
me  for  his  wife. 

But  later,  when  I  went  to  bed  in  the  pretty  blue  and 
white  room  next  Virginia's,  I  did  not  cry.  I  lay  wide 
awake  thinking  over  and  over,  "  How  could  he  do 
it?  Why  is  he  heartless?  Was  he  only  playing?  " 


DIARY— "THE  LINK  MUST  BREAK"    265 

When  morning  came  I  had  partially  decided  that  I 
had  been  a  ready,  silly  fool ;  that  Royal  Lee  had  merely 
whiled  the  hours  away  more  pleasantly  because  of  my 
love.  I  felt  tempted  to  denounce  him  but  I  thought 
that  would  afford  him  additional  amusement  and  make 
me  not  a  whit  less  miserable.  I  was  eager  to  get  away 
from  him.  I  desired  but  one  little  moment  alone  with 
him  to  satisfy  myself  that  I  did  not  judge  him  un- 
justly. Fortunately  he  came  to  the  sitting-room  as  I 
sat  there  staring  at  the  page  of  a  magazine. 

"Alone?  "he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  Phoebe  " — he  drew  nearer  and  I  rose  and  stood 
away  from  him.  "  My  Bluebird !  You  look  unhappy. 
Are  you  still  shocked  at  the  smoking  and  drinking  you 
saw  last  night  ?  It's  all  in  the  game,  you  know.  Why 
not  be  happy  along  with  the  rest  of  us,  why  be  a 
prude?" 

I  shivered.  Couldn't  he  know  why  I  was  unhappy ! 
How  false  and  fickle  he  was!  I  wouldn't  wear  my 
heart  on  my  sleeve  for  him  to  read  and  laugh  about. 
All  my  Metz  determination  rose  in  me. 

"  Why,"  I  lied,  "  I'm  not  unhappy.  I'm  just  tired. 
Late  hours  don't  agree  with  me." 

He  stretched  out  his  arm  but  I  eluded  him. 
"  Don't,"  I  said  lightly ;  "  we've  been  foolish  long 
enough." 

"  Why  " — he  looked  at  me  keenly.  But  I  was  de- 
termined he  should  not  read  my  feelings.  I  smiled  in 
spite  of  my  contempt  for  him.  "  Why,  Phoebe,"  he 
said  tenderly,  "  what  has  changed  you  ?  Why  shouldn't 


266  PATCHWORK 

I  kiss  you  when  I  love  you?  Love  never  hurt  any 
one." 

"No—but " 

"But  what?  "he  asked. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  I  said,  stepping  farther  away  from 
him.  "  I'm  in  a  hurry  this  morning.  Good-bye." 
And  for  the  first  time  I  saw  a  look  of  chagrin  mar 
the  handsome  face  of  Royal  Lee.  Before  he  could 
recover  his  customary  equanimity  I  was  gone  from 
the  house. 

I  walked,  caring  not  where  the  way  led.  My  brain 
was  in  a  whirl.  I  felt  as  though  I  were  fleeing  from 
a  crumbling  precipice.  In  a  flash  I  understood  Vir- 
ginia's tactful  attempts  at  warning.  She  had  tried  to 
make  me  understand  but  my  head  was  too  easily 
turned  by  the  fine  speeches  and  flattering  attentions  of 
the  musician.  I  have  been  vain  and  foolish  but  I've 
had  my  lesson.  It  still  hurts,  and  yet  I  can  see  the 
value  of  it.  I'll  be  better  qualified  after  this  to  dis- 
criminate between  the  false  and  true. 

I  am  going  home  to-day !  It  came  to  me  suddenly 
as  I  went  back  to  my  boarding-house  after  my  long 
walk.  I  promised  David  I'd  come  home  for  arbutus 
and  the  inspiration  came  to  go  home  for  the  whole 
spring  and  summer.  I'll  write  a  note  to  Mr.  Krause 
and  one  to  Virginia.  Dear  Virginia,  she  has  been  so 
good  to  me  and  helped  me  in  so  many  ways!  I  can 
never  thank  her  enough.  These  eight  months  in 
Philadelphia  have  been  a  liberal  education  for  me. 
I'll  never  regret  them.  I  hope  to  come  back  in  the 
fall  and  go  on  with  the  music  lessons.  By  that 


DIARY—"  THE  LINK  MUST  BREAK  "    267 

time  Royal  Lee  will  have  found  another  to  make 
love  to. 

So  I'm  going  home  to-day,  back  to  Lancaster 
County.  The  trees  are  green  and  the  flowers  are  out 
— oh,  I'm  wild  to  get  back ! 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
"  HAME'S  BEST  " 

LANCASTER  COUNTY  never  before  looked  so  fertile, 
so  lovely,  as  it  did  that  April  day  when  Phcebe  re- 
turned to  it  after  a  long  winter  in  Philadelphia. 

As  she  came  unexpectedly  there  was  no  one  to  meet 
her  at  Greenwald.  She  started  across  the  street  and 
was  soon  on  the  dusty  road  leading  to  the  gray  farm- 
house. 

"  Let  me  see,"  she  thought,  "  this  is  Friday  after- 
noon and  Aunt  Maria  will  be  scrubbing  the  kitchen 
floor." 

But  when  the  girl  reached  the  kitchen  of  the  gray 
house  and  tiptoed  gently  over  the  sill  she  found  the 
big  room  in  order  and  Aunt  Maria  absent. 

"  Why,"  she  thought,  "  is  Aunt  Maria  sick?  "  She 
opened  the  door  to  the  sitting-room  and  there,  seated 
by  a  window,  was  Aunt  Maria  with  a  ball  of  gray  wool 
in  her  lap  and  five  steel  knitting  needles  plying  in  her 
hands. 

"Aunt  Maria!" 

"Why,  Phcebe!" 

The  exclamations  came  simultaneously. 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  doing?  I  mean  why 
aren't  you  cleaning  the  kitchen?  Oh,  Aunt  Maria, 


"NAME'S  BEST"  269 

you  know  what  I  mean !  I  never  saw  you  sitting  down 
early  on  a  Friday  afternoon." 

Aunt  Maria  laughed.  "  I  ain't  sick !  You  can  see 
what  I'm  doin';  I'm  knittin'.  Ain't  you  learned  to 
do  it  yet?  I  can  learn  you." 

"Why,  I  know  how.  But  what  are  you  knitting? 
For  the  Red  Cross?" 

"  Why  not  ?  You  think  the  ladies  in  Phildelphy  are 
the  only  ones  do  that  ?  There's  a  Red  Cross  in  Green- 
wald  and  they  are  askin'  all  who  can  to  help.  I  used 
to  knit  all  my  own  stockings  still  so  I  thought  I'd  pitch 
right  in.  I  let  the  cleanin'  slide  a  little  this  week  so 
I  could  get  a  good  start  on  this  once." 

The  girl  gasped  and  looked  at  her  aunt  in  wonder. 
All  the  days  of  her  life  she  had  never  known  her  aunt 
to  "  let  the  cleanin'  slide,"  if  the  physical  strength  were 
there  to  do  the  work.  Aunt  Maria  was  working  for 
the  Red  Cross!  While  she,  who  had  scorned  the 
country  folks  and  called  them  narrow,  had  knitted 
half-heartedly  and  spent  the  major  part  of  her  time 
in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  the  people  of  the  little  town 
and  surrounding  country  had  been  doing  real  work 
for  humanity. 

"  I  think  you're  splendid,  Aunt  Maria,  to  help  the 
Red  Cross,"  she  said  with  enthusiasm. 

The  woman  looked  up  from  her  knitting.  "  Why, 
how  dumb  you  talk!  I  guess  abody  wants  to  help. 
Them  soldiers  are  fightin'  for  us.  Now  you  can  get 
yourself  something  to  eat.  It  venders  me,  anyhow, 
why  you  come  home  this  time  of  the  year.  You  said 
you'd  stay  till  June." 


270  PATCHWORK 

"  I  came  because  I  want  to  be  here." 

"  So.  Then  I  guess  you  got  enough  once  of  the 
city." 

"  Yes,"  said  Phoebe,  laughing.  "  But  how  is  every- 
body?" 

"All  pretty  good.  But  a  lot  of  boys  from  round 
here  went  a' ready  to  enlist.  I  ain't  for  war,  but  I 
guess  it  has  to  come  sometimes.  But  it's  hard  for 
them  that  has  boys." 

"  David?  "  Phoebe  asked.     "  Has  he  gone?  " 

"Ach,  no,  not  him.  He's  got  his  mom  to  take 
care  of." 

Phoebe  remembered  Virginia's  words,  "  We  can't 
get  away  from  it,  we're  in  it."  The  thought  of  them 
made  her  feel  depressed.  "  I'm  going  to  forget  the 
war,"  she  thought  after  a  moment,  "  I'm  going  to  for- 
get it  for  to-morrow  and  have  one  perfect  day  in  the 
mountains  hunting  arbutus." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

TRAILING  ARBUTUS 

IT  was  a  balmy  day  in  April  when  Phoebe  and  David 
drove  over  the  country  roads  to  the  mountains  where 
the  trailing  arbutus  grow. 

"  Spring  o'  the  year,"  called  the  meadow-larks  in 
clear,  piercing  tones. 

"  It  is  spring  o'  the  year,"  said  Phoebe.  "  I  know 
it  now.  But  last  week  I  felt  sure  that  the  -calendar 
was  wrong  and  I  wondered  whether  God  made  only 
English  sparrows  this  year;  that  was  all  I  could  see. 
Then  I  saw  a  few  birds  early  this  week  when  we  went 
along  the  Wissahickon  for  a  long  walk.  Oh,  no," 
she  said  in  answer  to  the  unspoken  question  in  his  eyes, 
"  I  did  not  go  alone  with  a  man.  In  Philadelphia  one 
does  not  do  that.  I  went  properly  chaperoned  by 
Mrs.  Hale.  Virginia  and  Royal  and  several  others 
were  in  the  party.  You  should  have  been  there;  you 
would  have  enjoyed  it  for  you  know  so  much  about 
birds  and  flowers.  Royal  didn't  know  a  spring  beauty 
from  a  bloodroot,  and  when  we  heard  a  song-sparrow 
he  said  it  was  a  thrush." 

David  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed.  "  Some 
nature  student  he  must  be !  But  it  must  be  fine  along 
the  Wissahickon.  I  have  read  about  it." 

"  It  is  fine,  but  this  is  finer." 


272  PATCHWORK 

"  You  better  say  so !  " 

"  Oh,  look,  David,  the  soil  is  pink !  "  She  pointed 
to  a  tilled  field  whose  soil  was  colored  a  soft  old  rose 
color.  "  I'm  always  glad  to  see  the  pink  soil." 

"  So  am  I.  It  means  that  we  are  getting  near  the 
mountains.  We'll  drive  over  to  Hull's  tavern  and 
leave  the  carriage  there,  then  we  can  go  to  the  patch 
of  woods  near  the  tavern  where  we  used  to  find  the 
great  beauties,  the  fine  big  ones.  There's  the  old 
tavern  now."  He  pointed  to  a  building  with  a  fine 
background  of  wooded  hills. 

Hull's  tavern,  a  rambling  structure  erected  in  1812, 
is  still  an  interesting  stopping-place  for  summer  ex- 
cursionists and  travelers  through  that  mountainous, 
section  of  Pennsylvania.  Situated  on  the  south  side 
of  the  beautiful  South  Mountains  and  overlooking  the 
richest  of  hills,  it  has  long  been  a  popular  roadhouse, 
accommodating  many  pleasure  parties  and  hikers. 

Phoebe  wandered  about  on  the  long  porches  while 
David  took  the  horse  to  the  stable. 

"  Now  then,"  he  said  as  he  joined  her,  "  give  me  the 
lunch  box  and  we'll  be  off." 

They  walked  a  short  distance  in  the  loamy  soil  of 
the  mountain  road  and  then  turned  aside  and  scram- 
bled up  a  steep  bank  to  a  tract  of  woodland.  Phoebe 
sank  on  her  knees  in  the  dry,  brown  leaves  and  pushed 
aside  the  leaves.  "  There,"  she  cried  in  triumph  a 
moment  later,  "  I  found  the  first  one!  "  She  lifted  a 
small  cluster  of  trailing  arbutus  and  gave  it  to  David. 

"  Um-ah,"  he  said,  in  imitation  of  a  little  girl  of 
long  ago. 


TRAILING  ARBUTUS  273 

"  Little  Dutchie,"  she  answered.  "  But  you  can't 
provoke  me  to-day.  I'm  too  happy  to  be  peevish. 
Come,  kneel  down,  you'll  never  find  arbutus  when  you 
stand  up." 

"  I'm  down,"  he  said  as  he  knelt  beside  her.  "  I'd 
go  on  my  knees  to  find  arbutus  any  day." 

"  So  would  I Oh,  look  at  this — and  this ! 

They  are  perfect."  She  fairly  trembled  with  joy  as 
she  uncovered  the  waxlike  flowers  of  dainty  pink  and 
white.  "  I  could  bury  my  nose  in  them  forever." 

"  They  are  perfect,"  agreed  the  man.  "  Fancy  liv- 
ing where  you  never  saw  any  arbutus  or  had  the  joy 
of  picking  them." 

"  I  don't  want  to  fancy  that,  it's  too  delicious  being 
where  they  do  grow.  Won't  Mother  Bab  love  them  ?  " 

"  Yes.  She'll  keep  them  for  days  in  water.  That 
flower  you  gave  her  in  Philadelphia  lasted  four 
days." 

"  These  are  better,"  Phoebe  said  quickly,  anxious 
to  shut  out  all  thoughts  of  the  city.  Now  that  she 
was  in  the  woods  again  she  knew  how  hungry  she  had 
been  for  them.  "  I  am  going  to  pick  a  bunch  of  big 
ones  for  Mother  Bab." 

"  She  would  like  the  small  ones  every  whit  as  much," 
the  man  declared. 

"  Perhaps  better,"  she  mused.  "  She  would  say 
they  are  just  as  sweet  and  pretty.  David,  I  don't  know 
what  I  should  have  done  without  Mother  Bab!  My 
life  was  different,  somehow,  after  she  allowed  me  to 
adopt  her." 

"She's  great,  isn't  she?" 


274  PATCHWORK 

"Wonderful!  I  have  many  friends,  many  new 
ones,  many  dear  ones,  but  there  is  only  one  Mother 
Bab." 

The  man's  hands  trembled  among  the  arbutus — did 
the  admiration  touch  Mother  Bab's  son?  Could  the 
dreams  of  his  heart  ever  come  true? 

"  You  know,"  Phoebe  went  on,  "  if  I  could  always 
have  her  near  me,  in  the  same  house,  I'd  be  less  un- 
worthy of  calling  her  Mother  Bab." 

It  was  well  that  she  bent  over  the  dry  leaves  and 
blossoms  and  missed  the  look  that  flooded  the  face  of 
the  man  for  a  moment.  She  wanted  to  be  with 
Mother  Bab — should  he  tell  her  of  his  love  ?  But  the 
very  fact  that  she  spoke  thus  was  evidence  that  she 
did  not  love  him  as  he  desired.  And  the  war  must 
change  his  most  cherished  plans  for  the  future,  change 
them  greatly  for  a  time.  If  he  went  and  never  re- 
turned it  would  be  harder  for  her  if  he  went  as  her 
lover.  As  it  was  he  was  merely  her  old  comrade  and 
friend ;  he  could  read  from  her  manner  that  no  deeper 
feeling  had  touched  her — not  for  him,  but  he  won- 
dered about  the  musician 

The  spell  was  broken  when  Phoebe  spoke  again: 
"  Do  you  know,  Davie,  I  read  somewhere  that  arbutus 
can't  be  made  to  grow  anywhere  except  in  its  own 
woods,  that  the  most  skilful  hand  of  man  or  woman 
can't  transplant  it  to  a  garden  where  the  soil  is  dif- 
ferent from  its  native  soil." 

"  I  never  heard  that  before,  but  I  remember  that  I 
tried  several  times  and  failed.  I  dug  up  a  big  box  of 
the  soil  to  make  it  grow,  but  it  lasted  several  months 


TRAILING  ARBUTUS  275 

and  died.  Let  us  go  along  this  path  and  find  a  new 
bed;  we  have  almost  cleaned  this  one." 

"  See  " — she  raised  her  bunch  of  flowers — "  I  didn't 
take  a  single  root,  so  next  year  when  we  come  we 
shall  find  as  many  as  this  year.  They  are  too  alto- 
gether lovely  to  be  exterminated." 

They  moved  about  the  woods,  finding  new  patches 
of  the  fragrant  flowers,  until  they  declared  it  would 
be  robbery  to  take  another  one. 

"  Let's  eat,"  she  suggested;  "  I'm  hungry  as  a  bear." 

"  Race  you  to  that  big  rock,"  cried  David  and  began 
to  run.  Phoebe  followed  through  the  brush  and  dry 
leaves,  but  the  farmer  covered  the  distance  too  quickly 
for  her. 

"Now  I'm  hungry,"  she  said,  panting;  "I'll  eat 
more  than  my  share  of  the  lunch." 

She  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  boulder  and  they  sat 
side  by  side,  the  lunch  box  resting  on  David's  knees. 

"  Now  anything  you  want  ask  for,"  said  he. 

"  I  will  not !  "  She  delved  into  the  box  and  brought 
out  a  sandwich.  "  It's  mine  as  much  as  yours." 

"  Going  in  for  Woman's  Suffrage  and  Rights  and 
the  like  ?  "  he  asked,  laughing. 

"  Ugh,"  she  wrinkled  her  nose,  "  don't  mention 
things  like  that  to-day.  I  don't  want  to  hear  about 
war  or  work  or  problems  or  anything  but  just  pure  joy 
this  day!  I  earned  this  perfect  day  this  year.  This 
is  to  be  a  day  of  all-joy  for  us.  Have  another  sand- 
wich ?  I'm  going  to — this  makes  only  four  more  left 
for  each.  Aunt  Maria  knew  what  she  was  doing 
when  she  made  me  take  this  big  box  of  lunch  for  just 


276  PATCHWORK 

us  two.  Now,  aren't  you  glad  that  I  brought  lunch 
in  a  box  instead  of  eating  our  dinner  at  Hull's  as  you 
suggested  ?  "  she  said  as  she  kicked  her  feet,  little  girl 
fashion,  against  the  side  of  the  boulder. 

"  Of  course  I  am  glad.  I  was  afraid  you  might 
like  dinner  at  the  tavern  better,  that  is  why  I  sug- 
gested it." 

"  Don't  you  know  me  better  than  that  ?  Why,  we 
can  eat  in  dining-rooms  three  hundred  and  sixty-four 
days  in  every  year.  This  is  one  day  when  we  eat  in 
the  birds'  dining-room." 

"  I  am  enjoying  it,  Phoebe.  It  is  the  first  picnic  I 
have  had  for  a  long  time.  I  can't  tell  how  I'm  drink- 
ing in  the  joy  of  it." 

1 "  Now,"  said  Phoebe  later,  when  the  last  crumb  had 
been  taken  out  of  the  lunch  box,  "  we  can  pack  the 
arbutus  in  this  box.  If  you  find  some  damp  moss  I'll 
arrange  them." 

She  laid  the  flowers  on  the  cushion  of  moss,  covered 
them  with  a  few  damp  leaves  and  closed  the  box. 
"  That  will  keep  them  fresh,"  she  said.  "  Now  for 
our  drink  of  mountain  water,  then  home  again." 

Farther  in  the  woods  they  found  the  spring.  In  a 
little  cove  edged  with  laurel  bushes  and  overhung  with 
chestnut  trees  and  tall  oaks  it  sent  up  a  bubbling  foun- 
tain of  cold  water. 

"  I'm  sorry  the  picnic  is  over,"  said  Phoebe  as  she 
leaned  over  the  clear  water  and  drank  the  cold 
draught. 

"  There  is  still  the  lovely  drive  home,"  he  consoled 
her. 


TRAILING  ARBUTUS  277 

"  Yes,"  she  said  as  they  turned  and  walked  back 
through  the  woods  to  the  road  again,  "  and  I  shall  re- 
member this  day  for  a  long  time.  In  the  spring  it's 
dreadful  to  be  shut  in  the  city." 

"  I  believe  you  are  growing  tired  of  Philadelphia." 

"  Yes  and  no.  I  love  the  many  things  to  do  and 
see  there,  but  on  a  day  like  this  I  think  the  country  is 
the  place  to  really  enjoy  the  spring.  I  wish  you  could 
come  down  some  time  to  the  city;  there  are  many 
places  of  interest  you  would  like  to  visit." 

"  Yes."  He  opened  his  lips  to  tell  her  that  he  was 
soon  to  be  in  the  service  of  his  country,  then  he  re- 
membered that  she  had  said  she  did  not  want  to  hear 
the  word  war  on  that  day,  it  must  be  a  day  of  all  joy, 
so  he  closed  his  mouth  resolutely  and  merely  smiled  in 
answer  as  she  entered  the  carriage  for  the  ride  home. 
They  spoke  of  many  things;  she  was  gay  with  the 
childish  happiness  she  always  felt  in  the  woods  or  open 
country  roads.  He  answered  her  gaiety,  but  his  heart 
ached.  What  did  the  future  hold  for  him?  Would 
she,  perchance,  love  another  before  he  could  return — 
would  he  return  ? 

"  Look,"  Phcebe  said  after  they  had  driven  several 
miles,  "  it  is  going  to  storm — see  how  dark !  We  are 
going  to  have  an  April  storm." 

Even  as  they  looked  up  black  clouds  moved  swiftly 
across  the  sky.  They  turned  and  looked  toward  the 
mountains  behind  them — the  summits  were  shrouded 
in  dense  blackness;  the  whole  countryside  was  being 
enveloped  in  a  gloom  like  the  gloom  of  late  twilight. 
There  was  an  ominous  silence  in  the  air,  living  things 


278  PATCHWORK 

of  the  fields  and  woods  scurried  to  shelter ;  only  a  soli- 
tary red-headed  woodpecker  tapped  noisily  upon  a 
dead  tree  trunk. 

Suddenly  sharp  flashes  of  lightning  darted  in  zigzag 
rays  through  the  gloom. 

Phoebe  gripped  the  side  of  the  carriage.  "  The 
storm  is  following  us,"  she  said.  "  Look  at  the  hills — 
they  are  black  as  night.  Can  we  get  home  before  the 
storm  breaks  over  us  ?  " 

"  Hardly.  It  travels  faster  than  we  can,  and  we 
still  have  four  more  miles  to  go." 

The  horse  sniffed  the  air  through  inflated  nostrils 
and  sped  unbidden  over  the  country  road.  The  light- 
ning grew  more  vivid  and  blinding  and  darted  among 
the  hills  with  greater  frequency ;  loud  peals  of  thunder 
echoed  and  reechoed  among  the  mountains.  Then  the 
rain  came.  In  great  splashes,  which  increased  rapidly, 
it  poured  its  cool  torrents  upon  the  earth. 

Phcebe  laughed  but  David  shook  his  head.  "  We'll 
have  to  stop  some  place  till  it's  over.  You're  getting 
wet.  I'll  drive  in  this  barnyard." 

Amid  the  deafening  crashes  of  thunder  and  the 
steady  downpour  of  rain  they  ran  through  the  barn- 
yard and  up  the  path  that  led  to  the  house.  As  they 
stepped  upon  the  porch  a  door  was  opened  and  a 
woman  appeared.  , 

"  Why,  come  right  in !  "  she  greeted  them.  "  This 
is  a  bad  storm." 

"  If  you  don't  mind,"  Phoebe  began,  but  the  woman 
was  talkative  and  broke  in,  "  Now,  I  just  knowed 
there'd  be  company  come  to-day  yet !  This  after  when 


TRAILING  ARBUTUS  279 

I  dried  the  dishes  I  dropped  a  knife  and  fork  and 
that's  a  sure  sign.  Mebbe  you  don't  believe  in 
signs?" 

"  They  come  true  sometimes,"  said  Phoebe. 

"  Ach,  yes,  my  granny  used  to  plant  her  garden  by 
the  signs  in  the  almanac.  Cabbage,  now,  must  be 
planted  in  the  up-sign.  But  mebbe  you're  hungry 
after  your  drive  ?  I'll  get  some  cake." 

"  We  had  lunch " 

"  Ach,  if  your  man's  like  mine  he  can  eat  cake  any 
time."  She  opened  a  door  that  led  to  the  cellar  and 
soon  returned  with  a  plate  piled  high  with  cake. 
"  Now  eat,"  she  invited.  "  But,  ach,  I  just  thought 
of  it — you  said  you  come  from  Greenwald — then  I 
guess  you  know  about  Caleb  Warner  dying,  killing 
himself,  or  something." 

"Caleb  Warner  dying!"  David  echoed.  He  half 
started  from  his  chair,  then  sank  with  a  visible  effort  at 
self-control. 

"  Yes.  I  guess  you  know  him.  My  mister  was  in 
to  dinner  a  while  ago  and  he  said  it  went  over  the 
'phone  at  Risser's  and  Jacob  Risser  told  him  that  Caleb 
Warner  of  Greenwald  was  dead.  It  was  from  gas  or 
something  funny  like  that.  It's  the  Warner  that  sold 
that  oil  stock  and  gold  stock.  You  know  him  ?  " 

David  nodded,  his  lips  dry. 

"  Well,  I  guess  now  a  lot  of  people  will  lose  money. 
There's  a  lady  lives  near  here  that  gave  him  almost  all 
her  money  for  some  of  his  stock.  For  a  while  she  got 
big  interest  from  it,  but  then  it  stopped  and  now  she 
ain't  got  hardly  enough  money  to  live.  And  I  guess  a 


280  PATCHWORK 

lot  will  lose  money.  My  mister  had  no  time  for  that 
stock.  But  if  the  man's  dead  now  we  should  let  him 
rest,  I  guess." 

"  Yes "  David  braced  himself.  "  The  rain  is 

over.  Phoebe,  we  must  go." 

He  smiled  to  the  little  woman  as  he  gripped  her 
hand.  "  You  have  been  very  kind  to  us  and  we  appre- 
ciate it." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  echoed  Phcebe.  "  I  hope  we  have 
not  kept  you  from  your  work." 

"  Ach,  I  can  work  enough  to-day  yet.  I  like  com- 
pany and  I  don't  have  much  of  it  week-days.  Urn, 
ain't  it  good  smelly  after  the  rain  ? "  She  sniffed, 
smiling,  as  she  followed  Phcebe  and  David  down  the 
path  to  the  barnyard. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  called  as  they  drove  off.  "  Safe 
home." 

"  Thank  you.  Good-bye,"  Phcebe  called  over  the 
side  of  the  carriage.  Then,  as  they  entered  again 
upon  the  country  road,  she  turned  to  her  place  beside 
David. 

She  looked  up  at  him.  All  the  light  and  joy  had 
faded  from  his  face;  he  stared  straight  head,  though 
he  must  have  felt  her  eyes'  intent  gaze  upon  him. 

"David,"  she  said  softly,  "what  is  wrong?" 

"  Nothing,"  he  lied. 

"  Seems  you  look  different,"  she  persisted.  "  Is  it 
anything  about  Caleb  Warner's  death?" 

"  I'm  not  much  of  a  stoic,  Phoebe.  I  should  have 
hidden  my  worry.  But  you  must  forget  it;  we  must 
not  let  it  spoil  our  perfect  day.  It  really  is  no  great 


TRAILING  ARBUTUS  281 

matter.  I  am  affected,  in  some  way  you  can't  know, 
by  his  death,  but  I'll  get  over  it,"  he  tried  to  treat  the 
matter  lightly. 

But  Phoebe  felt  a  sudden  heaviness  of  heart.  She 
was  almost  certain  that  David  had  had  no  money  to 
buy  any  stock  from  Caleb  Warner,  therefore,  she 
jumped  to  the  conclusion,  it  must  be  that  David  cared 
for  Mary  Warner,  as  town  gossip  said  he  did,  and  that 
the  death  of  the  girl's  father  would  affect  him.  She 
felt  hurt  and  baffled  and  sorely  rebuffed  at  the  with- 
holding of  David's  confidence  and  was  worried  as  she 
saw  the  marks  of  worry  in  the  face  of  the  man. 
Womanlike,  she  felt  certain  that  the  other  girl  was 
not  good  enough  for  David.  Mary  Warner,  beauti- 
ful, aristocratic  in  bearing  and  manner — what  had  she 
to  do  with  a  man  like  David  Eby!  Was  an  incipient 
engagement  with  Mary  Warner  the  Aladdin's  lamp 
David  had  mentioned  several  times  as  being  on  the 
verge  of  rubbing  and  thus  become  rich  ?  The  thought 
left  her  trembling;  she  shivered  in  the  April  sunshine. 
When  David  spoke  it  was  with  an  abstracted  manner, 
and  the  girl  beside  him  finally  said,  "  Oh,  don't  let  us 
talk.  Let  us  just  sit  and  look  at  the  fields  and  enjoy 
the  scenery." 

She  said  it  calmly  enough,  but  the  man  beside  her 
could  not  know  that  it  required  the  last  shreds  of  her 
courage  to  keep  her  voice  from  breaking.  She  would 
not  let  David  see  that  she  cared  if  he  did  care  for  Mary 
Warner!  Of  course,  she  didn't  want  to  marry  him,  it 
was  merely  that  she  knew  Mary  was  too  haughty  for 
him.  Mother  Bab  would  also  say  that  he  was  too 


282  PATCHWORK 

different  from  Mary,  that  he  was  too  fine  for  her. 
Then  she  remembered  that  Mother  Bab  had  said  on  the 
previous  evening  that  the  Warners  had  taken  David 
to  Hershey  recently  in  their  fine  new  car.  She  shook 
herself  in  an  effort  at  self-control.  "  Phoebe,"  she 
thought,  "  you're  selfish !  You  go  to  Philadelphia  and 
you  go  out  with  Royal  Lee  and  dance  with  other  young 
men,  and  yet,  when  David  pays  attention  to  another 
girl  you  have  a  spasm !  " 

But  the  self-administered  discipline  failed  to  correct 
her  attitude.  She  knew  their  day  of  all-joy  was 
changed  for  her  as  it  had  been  changed  for  David. 
The  jealousy  in  her  heart  could  not  be  quite  overcome. 
She  was  glad  when  they  reached  familiar  fields  and 
were  on  the  road  near  Greenwald. 

"Will  you  come  in?"  she  invited  as  she  left  the 
carriage. 

"  No.     I  better  go  right  home." 

"  I'll  divide  the  flowers,  David.'* 

"  Oh,  keep  them  all." 

"  No,  indeed.  Mother  Bab  would  be  disappointed 
if  you  brought  her  none." 

She  opened  the  box,  separated  half  of  the  arbutus 
from  their  mates  and  laid  them  in  the  uplifted  corner 
of  her  coat.  "  There,"  she  said,  "  the  rest  are  yours 
and  Mother  Bab's.  It  was  perfect  in  the  woods  to- 
day. Thank  you " 

But  he  interrupted  her.  "  It  is  I  who  must  say  that, 
Phoebe!  This  has  been  a  great  day.  I'll  never  forget 
the  glorious  hour  when  we  were  on  our  knees  and 
pushed  away  the  leaves  and  found  the  arbutus.  That 


TRAILING  ARBUTUS  283 

is  something  to  take  with  one,  to  remember  when  the 
days  are  not  perfect  as  this  one." 

He  laid  his  fingers  a  moment  on  her  hand  as  she 
held  the  corner  of  her  coat  to  keep  the  flowers  from 
falling,  then  he  turned  and  jumped  into  the  carriage. 

"  Give  my  love  to  Mother  Bab,"  she  said. 

He  turned,  smiled  and  nodded,  then  started  off. 
Phoebe  stood  at  the  gate  and  watched  the  carriage  as 
it  went  slowly  up  the  steep  road  by  the  hill.  Her 
thoughts  were  with  the  man  who  was  going  home  to 
his  mother,  going  with  trailing  arbutus  in  his  hands 
and  some  great  unhappiness  in  his  heart. 

"  Is  it  always  so?  "  she  thought.  "  We  carry  fra- 
grance in  our  hands,  but  what  in  our  hearts  ?  "  For 
the  time  she  was  once  more  the  old  sympathetic,  natu- 
ral Phcebe,  eager  to  help  her  friend  in  need,  feeling 
the  divine  longing  to  comfort  one  who  was  miserable. 
"  Oh,  Davie,  Davie,"  she  thought  as  she  went  into  the 
house,  "  I  wish  I  could  help  you." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

MOTHER  BAB  AND  HER  SON 

WHEN  David  drove  over  the  brow  of  the  hill  and 
down  the  green  lane  to  the  little  house  he  called  home 
he  caught  sight  of  his  mother  in  her  garden.  He 
whistled.  At  the  sound  Mother  Bab  rose  from  the 
soft  earth  in  which  she  was  working  and  straightened, 
smiling.  She  raised  a  hand  to  shade  her  eyes  and 
waited  for  the  coming  of  her  boy,  dreaming  of  a  pos- 
sible separation  from  him,  dreaming  long  mother- 
dreams  while  he  took  the  horse  and  carriage  to  the 
barn. 

When  he  returned  he  had  mustered  all  his  courage 
and  was  smiling — he  would  be  a  stoic  as  long 'as  he 
could,  but  he  knew  that  his  mother  would  soon  dis- 
cover that  all  was  not  well  with  him. 

"  Here,  mother."     He  gave  her  the  box  of  arbutus. 

"  Then  you  got  some,  Davie !  "  She  buried  her  face 
in  the  cool,  sweet  blossoms.  "  Oh,  how  sweet  they 
are!  Did  you  and  Phoebe  have  a  good  time?  Did 
she  enjoy  it  as  much  as  she  always  used  to  enjoy  a  day 
in  the  woods  ?  " 

She  looked  up  suddenly  from  the  flowers  and  caught 
him  unawares.  "What  is  wrong?"  she  asked  with 
real  concern.  "  Did  you  and  Phoebe  fall  out  ?  " 


MOTHER  BAB  AND  HER  SON        285 

"  No,"  he  shook  his  head.  He  knew  that  attempts 
at  subterfuge  and  evasion  would  be  vain.  "  No,  mom- 
mie,  no  use  trying  to  deceive  you  any  longer — I  fell 
out  with  myself — I  wish  I  could  keep  it  from  you,"  he 
added  slowly ;  "  I  know  it's  going  to  hurt  you." 

"  You  tell  me,  Davie.  I've  lived  sixty  years  and 
never  yet  met  a  trouble  I  couldn't  live  through.  Tell 
me  about  it." 

She  placed  the  box  of  arbutus  in  the  garden  path  and 
laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Oh,  mommie,"  he  blurted  out,  almost  sobbing, 
"  I'm  ashamed  of  myself !  You'll  be  ashamed  of  your 
boy." 

"  It's  no  girl "  the  mother  hesitated. 

He  answered  with  a  vehement,  "  No !  " 

"  Then  tell  me,"  she  said  softly.  "  I  can  look  in 
your  eyes  and  hear  you  tell  me  most  anything  so  long 
as  you  need  not  tell  me  that  you  have  broken  the  heart 
or  spoiled  the  soul  of  a  girl." 

Sht  spoke  gently,  but  the  man  cried  out,  "  Thank 
God,  I  have  nothing  like  that  to  confess !  You  know 
there  is  only  one  girl  for  me.  I  could  never  look  into 
her  eyes  if  I  had  betrayed  the  trust  of  any  girl.  I  have 
dreamed  of  growing  into  a  man  she  could  love  and 
marry,  but  I  failed.  I  wanted  to  offer  her  more  than 
slavery  on  a  farm,  I  wanted  to  have  something  more 
than  the  few  hundreds  I  scraped  together.  I  took  the 
five  hundred  dollars  we  skimped  for  and  bought  stock 
of  Caleb  Warner — you  heard  that  he  died  ?  " 

"  Phares  told  me." 

"  I  guess  the  five  htmdred  dollars  is  gone  with  him ! 


286  PATCHWORK 

I  heard  of  other  men  getting  rich  by  buying  gold  and 
oil  stock  so  I  took  a  chance  and  staked  all  the  spare 
money  I  had." 

"  It  was  your  money,  Davie." 

"  You  called  it  mine,  but  you  helped  to  earn  and  save 
it.  Caleb  promised  me  he  would  sell  half  of  the  stock 
for  me  at  a  great  profit  in  a  week  or  two,  and  I  could 
keep  the  other  half  for  the  big  dividends  it  would  pay 
me  soon — now  he's  dead,  and  the  stock  is  probably 
worthless." 

He  looked  miserably  at  her  troubled  face.  She 
flung  her  arm  about  him  and  led  him  to  a  seat  under 
the  budded  cherry  tree.  "  We  must  sit  down  and  talk 
it  over,"  she  said.  *'  Perhaps  it  isn't  so  bad  as  you 
think.  Are  you  sure  the  stock  is  worth  nothing? 
Perhaps  you  can  get  something  out  of  it." 

"  Perhaps  I  can."  He  brightened  at  the  sugges- 
tion. 

"  Well,"  she  went  on,  "  I  can't  say  that  I  think  you 
did  right  to  buy  the  stock  and  try  to  get  rich  quick. 
You  know  that  money  gotten  that  way  is  tainted 
money,  more  or  less.  To  earn  what  you  have  and 
have  a  little  is  better  and  safer  than  to  have  much  and 
get  it  in  such  a  way.  But  it's  too  late  to  preach  about 
that  now — I  guess  I  didn't  tell  you  that  often  enough 
and  hard  enough  before  this,  or  else  you  wouldn't  have 
wanted  to  buy  the  stock.  It  is  partly  my  fault,  for  I 
thought  some  time  ago  you  talked  as  though  you  were 
getting  the  money  craze,  but  I  thought  it  would  soon 
wear  off.  You  did  a  foolish  thing,  but  there's  no  use 
crying  about  it.  You  see  you  did  wrong  and  are 


MOTHER  BAB  AND  HER  SON         287 

sorry,  so  that  is  all  there  is  to  it.  I'm  not  sorry  you 
lost  on  the  stock,  for  if  you  made  on  it  the  craze  would 
go  deeper.  I  can  live  without  the  few  extra  things 
that  money  would  buy." 

"Don't  be  so  forgiving,  mother!  Scold  me!  I'd 
feel  less  like  a  criminal.  But  here  comes  Phares ;  he'll 
give  me  the  scolding  you're  saving  me." 

The  preacher  crossed  the  lawn  and  advanced  to  the 
seat  under  the  cherry  tree. 

"  Aunt  Barbara,"  he  began,  then  noted  the  troubled 
look  on  the  face  of  David  and  asked,  "  What  is 
wrong? " 

"  Nothing,"  said  David,  "  except  that  I  have  some 
of  Caleb  Warner's  stock." 

"  You  do?    Whatever  made  you  buy  that?  " 

David  spoke  as  calmly  as  possible.  "  I  wanted  to 
be  rich,  that's  all.  But  I  guess  I  was  never  intended 
to  be  that." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are  going  to  be  sorry,"  said  the 
preacher  very  soberly.  "  I  just  came  from  town  and 
they  say  things  look  bad  for  the  investors.  They  said 
first  that  Warner  was  asphyxiated  accidentally,  but  he 
was  so  deep  in  a  hole  with  investing  and  re-investing 
other  peopled  money  and  his  own  and  he  had  lost  so 
much  that  people  think  this  was  the  easiest  way  out  of 
it  all  for  him.  I  suppose  it  will  be  hushed  up  and  no 
one  will  ever  know  just  how  he  died.  There  are  at 
least  twenty  people  in  town  and  farms  near  here  who 
are  worried  about  their  money  since  he  died.  Did  you 
have  much  stock?  " 

"  Five  hundred  dollars'  worth." 


288  PATCHWORK 

"If  people  were  as  eager  to  lay  up  treasures  in 
heaven "  the  preacher  said  thoughtfully. 

"  If  they  were,"  said  David,  struggling  to  keep  the 
wrath  from  his  words  and  voice.  "  I  know,  Phares, 
you  can't  understand  why  everybody  should  not  be  as 
good  as  you.  I  wish  I  were — mother  should  have  had 
a  son  like  you.  I'm  the  black  sheep  of  the  Eby  family, 
I  suppose." 

"  No,  no !  "  cried  Mother  Bab.  "  We  all  make  mis- 
takes !  You  are  good  and  noble,  David.  I  am  proud 
of  you,  even  if  you  do  err  sometimes." 

"  We  must  make  the  best  of  it,"  said  the  preacher. 
"  Perhaps  the  stock  is  not  quite  worthless.  If  I  were 
you  I'd  go  to  the  lawyer  in  Lancaster.  He'll  see  you 
at  his  house  if  you  'phone  in." 

"  Mighty  good  to  think  of  that  for  me,"  said  David, 
gripping  the  hand  of  his  cousin.  "  I'll  go  in  to- 
night." 

Several  hours  later  David  Eby  sat  before  a  lawyer 
and  waited  for  the  verdict.  "  I'm  sorry,"  the  lawyer 
shook  his  head.  "  The  stock  is  worthless.  Six  months 
ago  you  might  have  sold  it ;  now  it's  dead  as  a  door- 
nail." 

"  Guess  it  was  a  wildcat  scheme,"  said  David. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  went  out  to  the  street.  His 
Aladdin's  lamp  was  smashed!  What  a  fool  he  had 
been! 

When  he  reached  home  Mother  Bab  read  the  news 
in  his  face.  "  Never  mind,"  she  said  bravely,  "  we'll 
get  along  without  that  money." 

"  Yes — but " — David  spoke  slowly,  as  if  fearing  to 


MOTHER  BAB  AND  HER  SON         289 

hurt  her  further — "  I  hoped  to  have  a  nice  bank  ac- 
count for  you  to  draw  on  when — when  I  go." 

"  You  mean "  Mother  Bab  stopped  suddenly. 

Something  choked  her,  but  she  faced  him  squarely  and 
looked  up  into  his  face. 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  mean  that  I  must  go.  You  want 
me  to  go,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes."  The  word  came  slowly,  but  David  knew 
how  truly  she  felt  it.  "  You  must  go.  I  knew  it  right 
away  when  I  saw  that  we  were  called  of  God  to  help 
in  the  fight  for  world  peace  and  righteousness.  You 
must  go;  there  is  nothing  to  keep  you.  Phares  will 
look  after  the  little  farm.  I  spoke  to  him  about  it  last 
week " 

"  Mother,  you  knew  then !  " 

"  I  saw  it  in  your  face  as  soon  as  war  was  declared. 
Phares  was  lovely  about  it  and  said  he  could  just  as 
well  take  your  few  acres  in  with  his  and  pay  a  percent- 
age to  me  for  the  crops  he'll  get  from  them.  Phares 
is  kind ;  he  has  a  big  heart,  for  all  his  queer  ways  and 
his  strict  views." 

"  Phares  is  too  good  to  be  related  to  me,  mommie. 
I'm  ashamed  of  myself." 

"  Ach,  you  two  are  just  different,  that's  all.  I  can 
go  over  and  stay  at  their  house.  Did  you  tell  Phoebe 
you  are  going?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  couldn't  tell  her  yesterday. 
We  had  such  a  great  day  in  the  woods  finding  the  arbu- 
tus, eating  our  lunch  on  a  rock  and  acting  just  like  we 
used  to  when  we  were  ten  years  younger.  She  never 
mentioned  war  and  I  could  not  seem  to  break  into  that 


290  PATCHWORK 

day  of  gladness  to  speak  about  the  subject.  I  meant 
to  tell  her  all  about  it  when  we  got  home,  but  then  that 
storm  came  up  and  we  stopped  at  a  farmhouse  and  I 
heard  about  Caleb  Warner.  It  struck  me  so  hard  I 
was  just  no  good  after  that.  I'll  be  a  dandy  soldier, 
won't  I?" 

He  laughed  and  took  the  little  woman  in  his  arms. 
When,  some  moments  later,  he  held  the  white-capped 
mother  at  arms'  length  and  smiled  into  her  face  neither 
knew  if  the  wet  lashes  were  caused  by  laughter  or 
tears. 

"  Some  soldier  you'll  make,"  she  said  as  she  looked 
at  him,  tall,  broad  of  shoulder,  straight  of  spine. 
"  Some  soldier  or  sailor  you'll  make !  " 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

PREPARATIONS 

THE  days  following  the  death  of  Caleb  Warner 
were  days  of  anxiety  to  other  inhabitants  of  the  little 
town  who,  like  David,  had  purchased  stock  with  glori- 
ous visions  of  sudden  gain.  In  a  short  time  the  list 
of  Warner's  unfortunate  investors  was  known  and 
they  were  accorded  various  degrees  of  sympathy,  re- 
buke or  ridicule.  The  thing  that  hurt  David  was  not 
so  much  the  knowledge  that  some  were  speaking  of 
him  in  condemnation  or  pity  as  the  fact  that  he  merited 
the  condemnation. 

But  he  had  neither  time  nor  inclination  for  self-pity. 
His  country  was  calling  for  his  services  and  he  knew 
his  duty  was  to  offer  himself.  He  could  not  conscien- 
tiously say  his  mother  had  urgent  need  of  him  for  he 
knew  that  the  little  farm  would  supply  enough  for  her 
maintenance. 

Phares  Eby,  although  a  preacher  among  a  sect  who, 
as  a  sect,  could  not  sanction  the  bearing  of  arms,  ac- 
cepted the  decision  of  his  cousin  with  no  show  of  dis- 
approval. "  I  don't  believe  in  wars,"  he  said  gravely, 
"  but  there  seems  to  be  no  other  way  this  time.  One 
of  the  Eby  family  should  go.  I'll  be  glad  to  keep  up 
your  farm  and  help  look  after  your  mother  while  you 


292  PATCHWORK 

are  gone.  The  most  I  can  do  here  will  be  less  than  you 
are  going  to  do,  but  I'll  raise  the  best  crops  I  can  and 
help  in  the  food  end  of  it." 

"  You'll  do  your  part  here,  Phares,  and  it  will  count. 
You're  a  bona-fide  farmer.  You'll  have  our  little 
place  a  record  farm  when  I  get  back.  You're  a  brick, 
Phares !  "  For  the  first  time  in  months  he  felt  a  genu- 
ine affection  for  his  preacher  cousin.  Preaching,  pro- 
saic Phares,  how  kind  he  was ! 

Lancaster  County  measured  up  to  its  fair  standard 
in  those  first  trying  days  of  recruit  gathering.  The 
sons  of  the  nation  answered  when  she  called.  Penn- 
sylvania Dutch,  hundreds  of  them,  rallied  round  the 
flag  and  proved  beyond  a  doubt  that  the  real  Pennsyl- 
vania Dutch  are  not  German-American,  but  loyal, 
four-square  Americans  who  are  keeping  the  faith. 
Two  hundred  years  ago  the  ancestors  of  the  present 
Pennsylvania  Dutch  came  to  this  country  to  escape 
tyranny,  and  the  love  of  freedom  has  been  transmitted 
from  one  generation  to  another.  The  plain  sects,  so 
flourishing  in  some  portions  of  the  Keystone  State, 
consider  war  an  evil,  yet  scores  of  men  in  navy  blue 
and  army  khaki  have,  come  from  homes  where  the 
mother  wears  the  white  cap,  and  have  gone  forth  to 
do  their  part  in  the  struggle  for  world  freedom. 

As  David  Eby  measured  the  days  before  his  de- 
parture he  felt  grateful  to  Mother  Bab  for  refraining 
from  long  homilies  of  advice.  Her  whole  life  was  a 
living  epistle  of  truth  and  nobility  and  she  was  wise 
enough  to  discern  that  what  her  son  wanted  most  in 
their  last  days  together  was  her  customary  cheerful- 


PREPARATIONS  293 

ness — although  he  knew  that  at  times  the  cheerfulness 
was  a  bit  bluffed ! 

News  travels  fast,  even  in  rural  communities.  The 
people  on  the  Metz  farm  soon  learned  of  David's  loss 
of  money  and  of  his  desire  to  enter  the  navy. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  about  the  stock?  "  Phoebe 
chided  him. 

"  I  couldn't.  It  knocked  me  out — it  changed  some 
of  my  plans.  I  knew  you'd  despise  me  and  I  couldn't 
stand  that  too  that  day." 

"  Despise  you !  How  foolish  to  think  that.  Of 
course  it's  better  to  earn  your  money,  but  I  think  you 
learned  your  lesson." 

"  I  have.     I'll  never  try  to  get  rich  quick." 

"  And  you're  going  to  war ! "  The  words  were 
almost  a  cry.  "  What  does  Mother  Bab  say  ?  How 
dreadful  for  her!  " 

"Dreadful?"  he  asked  gently.  "Phoebe,  think  a 
minute — would  you  rather  be  the  mother  of  a  soldier 
or  sailor  than  the  mother  of  a  slacker?  " 

"  I  would,"  she  cried.  "  A  thousand  times  rather !  " 
She  clutched  his  sleeve  in  her  old  impetuous  manner. 
"  I  see  now  what  it  means,  what  war  must  mean  to  us ! 
We  must  serve  and  be  glad  to  do  it.  Your  going  is 
making  it  real  for  me.  I'm  proud  of  you  and  I  know 
Mother  Bab  must  be  just  about  bursting  with  pride,  for 
she  always  did  think  you  are  the  grandest  son  in  the 
wide  world." 

"  Phcebe,  you  always  stroke  me  with  the  grain." 

"  That  sounds  as  if  you  were  a  wooden  pussy-cat," 
she  said  merrily.  "  But  you  are  just  being  funny  to 


294  PATCHWORK 

hide  your  deeper  feelings.  I  know  you,  David  Eby! 
Bet  your  heart's  like  lead  this  minute !  " 

"'I  have  no  heart/"  he  quoted.  "'The  place 
where  my  heart  was  you  could  roll  a  turnip  in.' ' 

She  laughed,  then  suddenly  grew  sober.  "  I've  been 
horribly  selfish,"  she  said.  "  Having  fine  clothes  and 
a  good  time  and  dreaming  of  fame  through  my  voice 
have  taken  all  my  time  during  the  past  winter.  I  have 
taken  only  the  husks  of  life  and  discarded  the  kernels. 
I'm  ashamed  of  myself." 

"  You  mustn't  condemn  yourself  too  much.  It's 
natural  to  pass  through  a  period  when  those  things 
seem  the  greatest  things  in  the  world,  but  if  we  do  not 
shake  off  their  influence  and  see  the  need  of  having 
real  things  to  lay  hold  on  we  need  to  be  jolted.  I  was 
money-mad,  but  I  htid  my  jolt." 

"  Then  we  can  both  make  a  fresh  beginning.  And 
we'll  try  hard  to  be  worthy  of  Mother  Bab,  won't  we, 
David?" 

David  was  mute;  he  could  merely  nod  his  head  in 
answer.  Worthy  of  Mother  Bab — what  a  goal !  How 
sweet  the  name  sounded  from  Phoebe's  lips!  Should 
he  tell  her  of  his  love  for  her?  He  looked  into  her 
face.  Her  eyes  were  like  clear  blue  pools  but  they 
mirrored  only  sisterly  affection,  he  thought.  Ah,  well, 
he  would  be  unselfish  enough  to  go  away  without  tell- 
ing of  the  hope  of  his  heart.  If  he  came  back  there 
would  be  ample  time  to  tell  her ;  it  was  needless  to  bind 
her  to  a  long-absent  lover.  If  he  came  back  crippled 

— if  he  never  came  back  at  all Oh,  why  delve 

into  the  future ! 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  FEAST  OF  ROSES 

IN  the  little  town  of  Greenwald  there  is  performed 
each  year  in  June  an  interesting  ceremony,  the  Feast 
of  Roses. 

The  origin  of  it  dates  back  to  the  early  colonial  days 
when  wigwam  fires  blazed  in  many  clearings  of  this 
great  land  and  Indians,  fashioned  after  the  similitude 
of  bronze  images,  stole  among  the  stalwart  trees  of  the 
primeval  forests.  In  those  days,  about  the  year  1762, 
a  tract  of  land  containing  the  present  site  of  the  little 
town  of  Greenwald  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  German, 
who  was  so  charmed  by  the  fertility  and  beauty  of  the 
fields  encircled  by  the  winding  Chicques  Creek  that  he 
laid  out  a  town  and  proceeded  to  build.  The  erection 
of  those  early  houses  entailed  much  labor.  Bricks 
were  imported  from  England  and  hauled  from  Phila- 
delphia to  the  new  town,  a  distance  of  almost  one  hun- 
dred miles. 

Some  time  later  the  founder  built  a  glass  factory  in 
the  new  town,  reputed  to  have  been  the  first  of  its  kind 
in  America.  Skilled  workmen  were  imported  to  carry 
on  the  work,  and  marvelously  skilful  they  must  have 
been,  as  is  proven  by  the  articles  of  that  glass  still  ex- 
tant. It  is  delicately  colored,  daintily  shaped,  when 


296  PATCHWORK 

touched  with  metal  it  emits  a  bell-like  ring,  and  alto- 
gether merits  the  praise  accorded  it  by  every  connois- 
seur of  rare  and  beautiful  glass. 

Tradition  claims  that  the  founder  of  that  town  was 
of  noble  birth,  but  his  right  to  a  title  is  not  an  indispu- 
table fact.  It  is  known,  however,  that  he  lived  in 
baronial  style  in  his  new  town.  His  red  brick  mansion 
was  a  treasure  house  of  tapestries,  tiles  and  other 
beautiful  furnishings. 

However,  whether  he  was  a  baron  or  an  untitled 
man,  he  merits  a  share  of  admiration.  He  was 
founder  of  a  glass  factory,  builder  of  a  town,  founder 
of  iron  works,  religious  and  secular  instructor  of  his 
employees  and  citizens,  and  earnest  philanthropist. 

The  last  role  resulted  in  his  financial  embarrassment. 
There  is  an  ominous  silence  in  the  story  of  his  life, 
then  comes  the  information  that  the  man  who  had  done 
so  much  for  others  was  left  at  last  to  languish  in  a 
debtors'  jail,  die  unbefriended  and  be  buried  in  an 
unknown  grave. 

In  the  days  of  his  prosperity  he  gave  to  the  congre- 
gation of  the  Lutheran  Church  in  his  town  a  choice 
plot  of  ground,  the  consideration  being  the  sum  of  five 
shillings  and  an  annual  rental  of  one  red  rose  in  June. 

Years  passed,  the  man  died,  and  either  through  for- 
getfulness  or  negligence  the  annual  rental  of  one  red 
rose  was  unpaid  for  many  years.  Then,  one  day  a 
layman  of  the  church  found  the  old  deed  and  the 
people  prepared  to  pay  the  long-neglected  debt  once 
more.  Since  that  renewal  there  is  set  apart  each  June 
a  Sabbath  day  upon  which  the  rose  is  paid  to  the  near- 


THE  FEAST  OF  ROSES  297 

est  descendant  of  the  founder  of  the  town.  They  give 
but  one  red  rose,  but  all  around  are  roses,  roses,  and  it 
seems  most  fitting  to  call  the  unique  occurrence  the 
Feast  of  Roses. 

If  ever  the  little  town  puts  on  royal  garb  it  is  on  the 
Feast  of  Roses  Sabbath.  For  days  before  the  cere- 
mony the  homes  of  Greenwald  are  beehives  of  indus- 
try. That  day  each  train  and  trolley,  every  country 
road,  is  crowded  with  strangers  or  old  acquaintances 
coming  into  the  town.  A  heterogeneous  crowd  swarms 
through  the  street.  The  curious  visitor  who  comes  to 
see,  the  dreamer  who  is  attracted  by  the  romance  of 
the  rose,  the  careless  youth  who  rubs  his  sleeve  against 
some  portly  judge  or  senator;  the  tawdry,  the  refined, 
the  rich,  the  poor — all  meet  in  the  crowd  that  moves  to 
the  red  brick  church  in  which  the  Feast  of  Roses  is 
held. 

The  old  church  of  that  early  day  has  been  removed 
and  in  its  place  a  modern  one  has  been  erected,  but  by 
some  happy  inspiration  of  the  builders  the  new  church 
is  devoid  of  the  garish  ornamentation  that  is  too  often 
found  in  churches.  Harmonious  coloring,  artistic 
beauty,  make  it  a  fitting  place  for  a  Feast  of  Roses. 

When  Phoebe  Metz  entered  the  church  to  keep  her 
promise  to  sing  at  the  service  she  found  an  eager  crowd 
waiting  for  the  opening.  Every  available  space  was 
occupied ;  people  stood  in  the  rear  aisles,  others  waited 
in  the  churchyard  by  the  open  windows  and  hoped  to 
catch  there  some  stray  parts  of  the  service. 

Phoebe  pushed  her  way  gently  through  the  crowd  at 
the  door  and  stood  in  the  aisle  until  an  usher  saw  her 


298  PATCHWORK 

and  directed  her  to  a  seat  near  the  organ.  The  pink 
in  her  cheeks  grew  deeper.  "  I'll  sing  my  best  for 
Greenwald  and  the  Feast  of  Roses,"  she  thought. 
"  And  for  David !  He's  in  the  crowd.  He  said  he's 
coming  to  hear  me  sing." 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  pipe-organ  pealed  out. 
The  June  sunlight  streamed  through  the  open  win- 
dows, fell  upon  the  banks  of  roses,  and  gleamed  upon 
the  fountain  that  played  in  the  midst  of  the  crimson 
flowers.  Peace  brooded  over  the  place  as  the  last 
strains  of  music  died.  There  was  silence  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  a  prayer,  a  hymn  of  adoration,  and  then  the 
chosen  speaker  stood  before  the  crowd  and  delivered 
his  message. 

Phoebe  listened  to  him  until  he  uttered  the  words, 
"  True  life  must  be  service,  true  love  must  be  giving. 
No  man  has  reached  true  greatness  save  he  serves,  and 
he  who  serves  most  faithfully  is  greatest  in  the  king- 
dom." 

After  those  words  she  fell  to  thinking.  Many  things 
that  had  been  dark  to  her  suddenly  became  light.  She 
seemed  to  see  Royal  Lee  fiddling  while  the  world  was 
in  travail,  but  beside  him  rose  a  vision  of  David  in 
sailor's  blue,  ready  to  do  his  whole  duty  for  his 
country. 

"  Oh,"  she  thought,  "  I've  been  blind,  but  now  I  see ! 
It's  David  I  want.  He's  a  man !  " 

She  heard  as  in  a  dream  the  words  of  the  one  who 
presented  the  red  rose  to  the  heir.  "  Once  more  the 
time  has  come  to  pay  our  debt  of  one  red  rose.  It  is 
with  cheerfulness  and  reverence  we  pay  our  rental. 


THE  FEAST  OF  ROSES  299 

Amid  these  bright  surroundings,  in  the  presence  of  the 
many  who  have  come  to  witness  this  unique  ceremony, 
do  we  give  to  you  in  partial  payment  of  the  debt  we 

Owe — ONE  RED  ROSE." 

The  heir  received  the  flower  and  expressed  her  ap- 
preciation. Then  silence  settled  upon  the  place  and 
Phoebe  rose  to  sing. 

As  the  organ  sent  forth  the  opening  strains  of  music 
the  people  in  the  church  looked  at  each  other,  surprised, 
disappointed.  Why,  that  was  the  old  tune,  "Jesus, 
Lover  of  my  soul."  The  tune  they  had  heard  sung 
hundreds  of  times — was  Phoebe  going  to  sing  that? 
With  so  many  impressive  selections  to  choose  from  no 
soloist  need  sing  that  old  hymn!  Some  of  the  town 
people  thought  disdainfully,  "  Was  that  all  she  could 
sing  after  a  whole  winter's  study  in  Philadelphia!  " 

But  Phoebe  sang  the  old  words  to  the  old  tune.  She 
sang  them  with  a  new  power  and  sweetness.  It 
touched  the  listeners  in  that  rose-scented  church  and 
revealed  to  them  the  meaning  of  the  old  hymn.  The 
dependence  upon  a  divine  guide,  the  utter  impotence  of 
mortal  strength,  breathed  so  persuasively  in  the  second 
verse  that  many  who  heard  Phoebe  sing  it  mentally  re- 
peated the  words  with  her. 

"  Other  refuge  have  I  none, 

Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  Thee : 
Leave,  ah !  leave  me  not  alone, 

Still  support  and  comfort  me ; 
All  my  trust  on  Thee  is  stayed ; 

All  my  help  from  Thee  I  bring ; 
Cover  my  defenceless  head 

With  the  shadow  of  Thy  wing." 


3oo  PATCHWORK 

Then  the  hymn  changed — hope  displaced  hopeless- 
ness, faith  surmounted  fear. 

"  Plenteous  grace  with  Thee  is  found, 

Grace  to  cleanse  from  every  sin ; 
Let  the  healing  streams  abound, 

Make  and  keep  me  pure  within; 
Thou  of  life  the  fountain  art, 

Freely  let  me  take  of  Thee : 
Spring  Thou  up  within  my  heart, 

Rise  to  all  eternity." 

The  people  in  that  rose-scented  church  heard  the  old 
hymn  sung  as  they  had  never  heard  it  sung  before.  A 
subdued  hum  of  approval  swept  over  the  church  as  the 
girl  sat  down.  She  felt  that  she  had  sung  well;  her 
heart  was  in  a  tumult  of  happiness.  She  was  glad 
when  one  man  rose  and  lifted  his  hands  in  benediction. 

Again  the  organ  throbbed  with  glad  melodies.  The 
eager  crowd  fell  into  line  and  walked  slowly  to  the 
altar  to  lay  their  roses  there.  Children  with  half  with- 
ered blossoms,  maidens  with  bunches  of  crimson 
flowers,  here  and  there  a  stranger  with  gorgeous  hot- 
house roses,  older  men  and  women  with  the  products 
of  the  gardens  of  the  little  town — all  moved  to  the  spot 
where  lay  a  bank  of  fragrant  roses  and  placed  their 
tributes  there. 

Phoebe  added  her  roses  to  the  others  on  the  altar  and 
left  the  church.  Friends  and  acquaintances  stopped  to 
tell  her  how  well  she  sang.  But  the  words  that  one 
short  year  ago  would  have  filled  her  with  overwhelm- 
ing pride  in  her  own  talent  were  soon  crowded  from 
her  thoughts  and  there  reigned  there  the  words  of  the 


THE  FEAST  OF  ROSES  301 

speaker,  "  No  man  has  reached  true  greatness  save  he 
serves."  She  had  learned  great  things  at  that  Feast 
of  Roses  service.  She  had  looked  deep  into  her  own 
heart  and  on  its  throne  she  had  found  David. 

He  was  waiting  for  her  outside  the  church. 

"  You  sang  fine,  Phoebe,"  he  told  her  as  they  went 
down  the  street  together. 

"  Yes?     I'm  glad  you  liked  it." 

'  Then  they  spoke  of  other  things,  of  many  things, 
but  not  one  word  of  the  thoughts  lying  deepest  in  the 
heart  of  each. 

Aunt  Maria  and  Jacob  were  eating  supper  in  the  big 
kitchen  when  Phcebe  reached  home. 

"  Well,"  greeted  the  aunt,  "  did  you  come  once ! 
We  thought  that  Feast  of  Roses  would  been  out  long 
ago.  But  when  you  didn't  come  for  so  long  and  sup- 
per was  made  we  sat  down  a  while.  Did  you  sing?  " 

"  Yes,"  the  girl  said  as  she  removed  her  hat  and 
gloves  and  drew  a  chair  to  the  table. 

"  Now,"  cautioned  the  aunt,  "  put  your  apron  on ! 
That  light  goods  in  your  dress  is  nothin'  for  wear; 
everything  shows  on  it  so.  And  if  you  spill  red-beet 
juice  or  something  on  it  it'll  be  spoiled." 

"  I  forgot."  Phoebe  took  a  blue  gingham  apron 
from  a  hook  behind  the  kitchen  door.  "  There,  if  I 
spoil  it  now  you  may  have  it  for  a  rug." 

"  Well,  I  guess  that  would  be  housekeepin' !  And 
everything  so  high  since  the  war !  " 

"  Tell  me  about  the  Feast  of  Roses,"  said  the  father. 
"  Was  the  church  full?" 

"  Packed!     It  was  a  beautiful  service," 


302  PATCHWORK 

"  Well,"  spoke  up  Aunt  Maria,  "  I'm  glad  it's  over 
and  so  are  many  people.  Of  course  that  Feast  of 
Roses  don't  do  no  harm,  but  I  think  it's  so  dumb  to 
have  all  this  fuss  just  to  give  somebody  a  rose.  If 
that  man  wanted  to  give  the  church  some  land  why 
didn't  he  give  it  and  done  with  it  ?  It's  no  use  to  have 
this  pokin'  around  every  year  to  find  the  best  red  rose 
to  give  to  some  man  or  lady  that's  related  to  him.  The 
rose  withers  right  away,  anyhow.  And  this  Feast  of 
Roses  makes  some  people  a  lot  of  bother.  I  heard  one 
woman  say  in  the  store  that  she  has  to  get  ready  for  a 
lot  of  company  still  for  every  person  she  knows,  most, 
comes  to  visit  her  that  Sunday  and  she's  got  to  cook 
and  wash  dishes  all  day.  I  guess  she's  glad  it's  over 
for  another  year." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

BLINDNESS 

DAVID  EBY  had  spent  the  day  at  Lancaster  and  re- 
turned to  Greenwald  at  seven-thirty.  He  started  with 
springing  step  out  the  country  road  in  the  soft  June 
twilight.  It  was  a  twilight  pervaded  by  blended  per- 
fumes and  the  sleepy  chirp  of  birds.  David  drew  in 
deep  breaths  of  the  fresh  country  air. 

"  Lancaster  County,"  he  said  aloud  to  himself,  "  and 
it's  good  enough  for  me!  " 

Scarcely  slackening  his  pace  he  started  up  the  long 
road  by  the  hill.  He  paused  a  moment  on  the  summit 
and  looked  back  at  the  town  of  Greenwald,  then  almost 
ran  down  the  road  to  his  home. 

He  whistled  his  old  greeting  whistle. 

"  Here,  David,  I'm  on  the  porch,"  came  his  mother's 
voice. 

"  Mommie,"  he  cried  gaily  as  he  took  her  into  his 
arms,  "  I  knew  you'd  be  looking  for  me." 

Then  for  the  first  time  since  his  father's  death  he 
heard  his  mother  sob.  "  Oh,  mother,"  he  asked,  "  is 
my  going  away  as  hard  as  all  that?  Or  are  you  only 
glad  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Glad,"  she  replied,  restraining  her  emotion.  "  Sit 
down  on  the  bench,  Davie." 


304  PATCHWORK 

"  Why — I  didn't  notice  it  first — you're  wearing  dark 
glasses  again !  Are  your  eyes  worse  ?  " 

"  Sit  down,  Davie,  sit  down,"  she  said  nervously. 
"  That's  right,"  she  added  as  he  sat  beside  her  and  put 
one  arm  about  her. 

"  Now  tell  me,"  he  said  imperiously.  "  Are  you 
sure  you're  all  right?  You're  not  worrying  about 
me?" 

"  No,  I'm  not  worrying  about  you ;  I  quit  worrying 
long  ago.  But  I  must  tell  you — I  wish  I  didn't  have 
to— don't  be  scared — it's  just  about  my  eyes." 

"  Tell  me !     Are  they  worse  ?  " 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  knees.  "  Don't  get  excited 
— but — I  can't  see." 

"  Can't  see !  "  He  repeated  the  words  as  though  he 
could  not  understand  them.  Then  he  put  his  hands  on 
her  cheeks  and  peered  into  her  face  in  the  semi- 
darkness  of  the  porch.  "  Not  blind  ?  Oh,  mommie, 
not  blind?" 

She  nodded,  her  lips  trembling.  "Yes,  it's  come. 
I'm  blind." 

The  words,  fraught  with  so  much  sorrow,  sounded 
like  claps  of  thunder  in  his  ears.  "  Mother,"  he  cried 
again,  "  you  can't  be  blind !  " 

"  But  I  am.  I  knew  it  was  coming.  The  light  was 
getting  dimmer  every  day.  I  could  hardly  see  your 
face  this  morning  when  you  went." 

"  And  I  went  away  and  you  stayed  here  and  went 
blind ! "  He  broke  into  sobs  and  she  allowed  him  to 
cry  it  out  as  they  sat  together  in  the  darkness. 

"  Come,"  she  said  at  length,  "  now  you  mustn't  take 


BLINDNESS  305 

on  so.  It's  not  as  awful  as  you  think.  I  said  to 
Phares  to-day  that  I'm  almost  glad  it's  here,  for  it  was 
awful  to  know  it's  coming." 

"  But  it's  awful,"  he  shuddered.  "  Come  in  to  the 
light  and  let  me  see  you — but  oh,  you  can't  see 
me!" 

"  Yes  I  can."  She  reached  a  hand  to  his  face. 
"  This  is  the  way  I  see  you  now.  The  same  mouth 
and  chin,  the  same  mole  on  your  left  cheek — that's 
good  luck,  Davie — the  same  nose  with  its  little  turn- 
up." 

"  Mommie  " — he  grabbed  her  hands  and  kissed  them 
— "  there's  not  another  like  you  in  the  whole  world ! 
If  I  were  blind  I'd  be  groaning  and  moaning  and  mak- 
ing life  miserable  for  everybody  near  me,  and  here  you 
are  your  same  cheerful  self.  You're  the  bravest  of 
'email!" 

"  But  you  mustn't  think  that  I  haven't  rebelled 
against  this,  that  I  haven't  cried  out  against  it!  I've 
had  my  hours  of  weakness  and  tears  and  rebellion." 

"  And  I  never  knew  it." 

"  No.     Each  one  goes  to  Gethsemane  alone." 

"  But  isn't  it  almost  more  than  you  can  bear — to  be 
blind?" 

"  It's  dreadful  at  first.  I  stumble  so  and  every  little 
sill  and  rug  seems  a  foot  high.  But  I'll  soon  learn." 

"  Is  there  nothing  to  do  ?  What  did  Dr.  Munster 
say  about  your  eyes  when  we  were  down  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  He  told  me  then  I'd  be  blind  soon.  And  he  said 
the  only  thing  might  save  my  sight  or  bring  it  back 
was  a  delicate  operation  that  would  be  a  big  risk,  for  it 


306  PATCHWORK 

probably  wouldn't  help  at  any  rate.  So  I'm  not  think- 
ing of  ever  trying  that.  Now  I  don't  want  you  to 
think  I'm  brave  about  it.  I've  cried  all  my  tears  a 
month  ago,  so  don't  put  me  on  any  pedestal.  It  seems 
hard  not  to  see  the  people  I  love  and  all  the  beautiful 
things  around  me,  but  I'm  glad  I  have  the  memory  of 
them.  I'm  glad  I  know  what  a  rainbow  is,  and  a  sun- 
set." 

"  Yes,  but  I  think  it's  awful  to  know  what  they  look 
like  and  never  see  them  again.  I  can't,  just  can't, 
realize  that  you're  blind!  " 

"  You  will  when  you  come  back  from  war  and  have 
to  fetch  and  carry  for  me.  Your  Aunt  Mary  and 
Phares  are  just  lovely  about  it  and  willing  to  help  in 
every  way.  I  was  going  to  live  over  with  them  at  any 
rate." 

"  I  wish  I  could  stay  with  you,  mommie.  You  need 
me,  but  I  guess  Uncle  Sam  needs  me  too.  I'm  to  go 
soon,  you  know." 

"  You  go,  even  if  I  am  blind.  I'm  not  helpless.  It 
will  be  awkward  for  a  while  but  there  are  many  things 
I  can  do.  I  can  knit  without  seeing." 

"  You're  a  wonder !     But  is  there  no  hope  ?  " 

"  Hope,"  she  repeated  softly.  "  No  hope  of  the 
kind  you  mean,  except  that  very  severe  operation  that 
would  cost  big  money  and  then  perhaps  not  help.  But 
this  world  isn't  all.  I've  always  liked  that  part  of 
Isaiah,  *  The  eyes  of  the  blind  shall  be  opened,  and 
the  ears  of  the  deaf  shall  be  unstopped.  Then  shall 
the  lame  man  leap  as  an  hart,  and  the  tongue  of  the 
dumb  sing.'  I  know  now  what  it'll  mean  to  us.  It 


BLINDNESS  307 

seems  like  the  afflicted  will  have  a  special  joy  in  that 
time." 

David  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  his  mother's  words 
stirred  in  him  emotions  too  great  for  ready  words. 

Presently  she  continued,  "  But,  Davie,  this  isn't 
heaven  yet!  And  I'm  concerned  just  now  about  help- 
ing myself  to  live  the  rest  of  this  life  the  best  way  I 
can.  I  can  knit  like  a  machine  and  I  like  to  knit 
socks " 

The  remainder  was  left  unsaid  for  the  strong  arms 
of  her  boy  surrounded  her  and  held  her  close  while  his 
lips  were  pressed  upon  her  forehead. 

"  Such  a  mother,"  he  breathed,  as  if  the  touch  of 
her  forehead  bestowed  a  benediction  upon  him. 
"Such  a  mother!" 

In  the  morning  he  brought  the  news  to  the  Metz 
farmhouse. 

"Blind?"  Phoebe  cried. 

David  nodded. 

"Blind!    Mother  Bab  blind?    Oh,  it's  too  awful !" 

"  My  goodness,"  Aunt  Maria  said  with  genuine  sor- 
row, "  now  that's  too  bad !  Her  blind  and  you  goin' 
off  to  war  soon !  " 

"  I'm  going  up  to  see  her,"  said  Phoebe,  and  went 
off  with  David. 

Mother  Bab  heard  the  girl's  step  and  called  gaily, 
"  Phoebe,  is  that  you  ?  I  declare,  it  sounds  like  you !  " 

Phoebe  ran  to  the  room  where  Mother  Bab  sat  alone. 
The  girl  could  not  speak  at  first;  she  twined  her  arms 
about  the  woman  while  her  heart  ached  with  its  poign- 
ant grief.  Again  it  was  the  afflicted  one  who  turned 


3o8  PATCHWORK 

comforter.     "  Come,  Phoebe,  you  mustn't  cry  for  me. 
Laugh  like  you  always  did  when  you  came  to  see  me." 
"  Laugh!     Oh,  Mother  Bab,  I  can't  laugh!  " 
"  But,  Phoebe,  I'll  want  you  to  come  up  to  see  me 
every  day  when  you  can  and  you  surely  can't  cry  every 
time  and  be  sad,  so  you  might  as  well  begin  now  to  be 
cheerful." 

"  But,  Mother  Bab,  can't  something  be  done  ?  " 
"  Dr.  Munster,  the  big  doctor  I  saw  in  Philadelphia, 
said  that  only  a  big  operation  might  help  me,  but  he's 
not  sure  that  even  it  would  do  any  good.  And,  of 
course,  we  have  no  money  for  it  and  at  my  age  it 
doesn't  matter  so  much." 

Later,  as  Phoebe  walked  down  the  hill  again,  she 
kept  revolving  in  her  mind  what  Mother  Bab  had  said 
about  the  operation.  An  inspiration  suddenly  flashed 
to  her.  The  wonder  of  it  made  her  stand  still  in  the 
road. 

"  I  know!  I'll  buy  sight  for  Mother  Bab!  I  will! 
I  must!  If  it's  only  money  that's  necessary,  if  there's 
any  wonderful  doctor  can  operate  on  her  eyes  and 
make  her  see  again  she's  going  to  see!  Oh,  glory! 
What  a  happy  thought!  I'm  the  happiest  girl  since 
that  idea  came  to  me!  The  money  I  meant  to  spend 
on  more  music  lessons  next  winter  will  be  put  to  better 
use;  it  will  give  Mother  Bab  a  chance  to  see  again! 
Why,  I'd  rather  have  her  see  than  be  able  to  call  myself 
the  greatest  singer  in  the  world !  But  she'll  never  let 
me  spend  so  much  money  for  her.  I  know  that.  I'll 
have  to  make  her  believe  the  operation  will  be  free.  I 
can  fool  her  in  that,  dear,  innocent,  trusting  Mother 


BLINDNESS  309 

Bab!  She'd  believe  me  against  half  the  world.  But 
I'm  afraid  I  can't  fool  David  so  easily.  I  must  wait 
till  he  goes,  then  I'll  write  to  Dr.  Munster  and  start 
things  going ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

OFF  TO  THE  NAVY 

PHCEBE  was  glad  when  David  came  to  her  with  the 
news  that  he  had  been  accepted  for  the  navy  and  was 
going  to  Norfolk. 

"  That's  so  far  away  he  won't  come  home  soon,"  she 
thought.  "  It'll  give  me  a  chance  to  arrange  for  the 
operation.  I  hope  he  goes  soon.  That's  a  dreadful 
thing  to  say!  The  days  are  all  too  short  for  Mother 
Bab,  I  know." 

If  the  days  seemed  Mercury-shod  to  the  blind 
mother  she  did  not  complain. 

"  It's  hard  to  let  you  go,"  she  said  to  her  boy,  "  but 
it  would  be  harder  to  see  you  a  slacker.  Phoebe  is  go- 
ing to  read  to  me  now  when  you  go.  She'll  be  up  here 
often." 

"  Yes,  that  makes  it  easier  for  me  to  go,  mommie." 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  me.  Phoebe  will  be  good 
company  for  me  and  she'll  write  my  letters  for  me. 
We'll  send  you  so  many  you'll  be  busy  reading  them." 

"  I'm  going  to  make  her  promise  that,"  he  declared 
with  a  laugh. 

He  exacted  the  promise  as  Mother  Bab  and  Phoebe 
stood  with  him  and  waited  for  the  train  to  carry  him 
away.  "  Mother,  you  and  Phoebe  must  take  me  to  the 


OFF  TO  THE  NAVY  311 

train,"  he  had  said.  "  I  want  you  to  be  the  last  picture 
I  see  as  the  train  pulls  out."  Phoebe  had  assented, 
though  she  thought  ruefully  of  the  deficiency  of  the 
English  language,  which  has  but  one  form  for  singular 
you  and  plural  you.  She  wondered  whether  he  in- 
cluded her  in  the  picture  he  wanted  to  cherish  in  his 
memory.  Now,  when  he  was  going  away  from  her 
she  knew  that  she  loved  her  old  playmate,  that  he  was 
the  one  man  in  the  world  for  her.  She  loved  David, 
she  would  always  love  him!  She  wanted  to  run  to 
him  and  tell  him  so,  but  centuries  of  restriction  had  be- 
queathed to  her  the  universal  fear  of  womanhood  to 
reveal  a  love  that  has  not  been  sought.  She  felt  that 
in  all  her  life  she  had  never  wanted  anything  so  keenly 
as  she  wanted  to  hear  David  Eby  tell  her  that  he  loved 
her,  that  her  face  would  be  with  him  in  whatever  cir- 
cumstances the  future  should  place  him.  But  David 
could  not  read  the  heart  of  his  old  playmate,  and  while 
his  own  heart  cried  out  for  its  mate  his  words  were 
commonplace. 

"  Mother  has  promised  that  I'm  to  have  so  many 
letters  that  I  can't  read  them  all.  As  you're  to  be  pri- 
vate secretary,  you'll  have  to  promise  to  carry  out  her 
promise." 

"  David,"  she  met  him  with  equal  jest,  "  you  have 
as  many  promises  in  that  sentence  as  a  candidate  for 
political  office." 

"  But  I  want  them  better  kept  than  that,"  he  said, 
laughing.  "  Will  you  promise,  Phoebe?  " 

"  Promise  what  ?  "  she  asked,  the  levity  fading  sud- 
denly. 


3i2  PATCHWORK 

"  To  write  often  for  mother." 

"  Yes — I  promise  to  write  often  for  Mother  Bab," 
she  said,  and  the  man  could  not  know  the  effort  the 
simple  words  cost  her.  "  Oh,  Davie,"  she  thought, 
"  it's  not  for  Mother  Bab  alone  I  want  to  write  to  you ! 
I  want  to  write  you  my  letters,  letters  of  a  girl  to  the 
man  she  loves.  How  blind  you  are !  " 

The  moment  was  becoming  tense.  It  was  Mother  Bab 
who  turned  the  tide  into  a  normal  channel.  "  Now, 
don't  you  worry,  Davie.  I  can  make  Phoebe  mind  me." 

The  train  whistled.  Phcebe  drew  a  long  breath  and 
prayed  that  the  train  would  make  a  short  stop  and  speed 
along  for  she  could  not  endure  much  more.  She 
looked  at  Mother  Bab.  The  hysteria  was  turned  from 
her.  She  knew  she  would  have  to  be  brave  for  the 
sake  of  the  dear  mother. 

"  I'll  take  care  of  Mother  Bab,  David,"  she  promised 
as  the  train  drew  in,  "  and  I'll  write  often." 

"  Phcebe,  you're  an  angel !  "  He  grasped  both  hands 
in  his  for  a  long  moment.  Then  he  turned  to  his 
mother,  folded  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

"  There  he  is,"  Phoebe  cried  as  the  train  moved. 
She  was  eyes  for  Mother  Bab.  "  Turn  to  the  right  a 

bit  and  wave ;  that's  it !  He's  waving  back Oh, 

Mother  Bab,  he's  waving  that  box  of  sand-tarts  Aunt 
Maria  gave  him !  They'll  be  in  pieces !  " 

"  Sand-tarts,"  said  the  other,  still  waving  to  the  boy 
she  could  not  see.  "  Well,  he'll  eat  them  if  they  are 
broken.  Davie  is  crazy  for  cookies." 

'*  I'm  going  to  need  you  more  than  ever  now, 
Phoebe,"  Mother  Bab  said  as  they  started  home. 


OFF  TO  THE  NAVY  313 

"  Aunt  Mary  and  Phares  are  so  busy  and  I  feel  it's  so 
lovely  of  them  to  have  me  there  when  I  can  do  so  little 
to  help,  that  I  don't  want  to  make  them  more  trouble 
than  I  must.  So  if  you'll  take  care  of  the  writing 
to  David  for  me  I'll  be  glad."  Ah,  blind  Mother  Bab, 
you  had  splendid  vision  just  then ! 

"  I'll  write  for  you.  I'll  love  to  do  it.  Mother 

Bab "  She  hesitated.  Should  she  broach  the 

subject  of  the  operation  now?  Perhaps  it  would  be 
kind  to  divert  the  thoughts  of  the  mother  from  the 
recent  parting.  "  Mother  Bab,  I've  thought  about 
what  you  said,  and  I  think  you  should  have  that  opera- 
tion. The  doctor  said  there  was  a  chance." 

"  Ach,  a  very  slim  one.  One  chance  in — I  don't 
know  how  many !  " 

"  But  a  chance !  " 

"  Yes  " — the  woman  thought  a  moment — "  but  it 
would  cost  lots  of  money,  I  guess.  I  didn't  ask  the 
doctor,  but  I  know  operations  are  dear.  I  have  fifty 
dollars  saved,  but  that  wouldn't  go  far." 

"  But  don't  you  know,"  the  girl  said  guilelessly, 
"  that  all  big  hospitals  have  free  rooms  and  do  lots  of 
work  for  nothing?  Many  rich  people  endow  rooms  in 
hospitals.  If  you  could  get  into  one  like  that  and  pay 
just  a  little,  would  you  go  ?  " 

A  light  seemed  to  settle  upon  the  face  of  the  blind 
woman.  "  Why,"  she  answered  slowly,  "  why,  Phoebe, 
I  never  thought  of  that!  I  didn't  remember — why,  I 
guess  I  would — yes,  of  course!  I'd  go  and  make  a 
fight  for  that  one  chance !  " 

"  I  knew  you'd  be  brave !     You'll  have  that  opera- 


314  PATCHWORK 

tion,  Mother  Bab!  I'll  write  to  Dr.  Munster  right 
away.  But  don't  you  let  Phares  write  and  tell  David. 
We'll  surprise  him !  " 

"Ach,  but  won't  he  be  glad  if  I  can  see  when  he 
comes  home ! " 

"  Won't  he  though !    I'll  make  all  the  arrangements ; 
don't  you  worry  about  it  at  all." 
"  My,  you're  good  to  me,  Phoebe!  " 
"  Good — after  all  you've  done  for  me !  " 
"  Good,"  she  thought  after  Mother  Bab  had  been 
left  at  the  home  of  Phares  and  Phosbe  turned  home- 
ward.    "  She  calls  me  good  the  first  time  I  deceive  her. 
I've  begun  that  tangled  web  and  I  know  I'll  have  to  tell 
a  whole  pack  of  lies  before  I'm  through  with  it." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  ONE  CHANCE 

PHCEBE  lost  no  time  in  carrying  out  her  plans. 
When  she  mentioned  operation  to  Phares  Eby  he 
looked  dubious. 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  no  use,"  he  said  gravely.  "  Those 
operations  very  often  fail." 

"But  there's  a  chance,  Phares!  If  it  were  your 
eyes  wouldn't  you  snatch  at  any  meagre  chance  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  guess  I  would,"  he  admitted,  wondering 
at  her  insight  into  human  nature  and  admiring  her 
devotion  to  the  blind  woman. 

Aunt  Maria  also  was  sceptical.  "Ach,  Phoebe,  it 
vonders  me  now  that  Barb'll  spend  all  that  money  for 
carfare  and  to  stay  in  the  city  and  then  mebbe  it's  all 
for  nothin*.  There  was  old  Bevy  Way  and  a  lot  of 
old  people  I  knowed  went  blind  and  they  died  blind. 
When  abody  gets  so  old  once  it  seems  the  doctors 
can't  do  much.  I  guess  it  just  is  to  be." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Maria,"  Phoebe  said  hotly,  "  I  don't  be- 
lieve in  that  is-to-be  business!  Not  until  you've  done 
all  you  can  to  make  things  better." 

"  Well,  mebbe,  for  all,  it's  worth  tryin'.  I  guess  if 
it  was  my  eyes  I'd  do  most  anything  to  get  'em  fixed 
again." 

Mother  Bab  said  little  about  the  hopes  Phoebe  had 


3i6  PATCHWORK 

raised,  but  the  girl  knew  how  the  woman  built  upon 
having  sight  for  a  glad  surprise  for  David. 

"  I'm  afraid  the  fifty  dollars  won't  reach,"  she  said 
the  day  before  they  were  to  take  the  trip  to  Philadel- 
phia. 

"  Don't  worry  about  that.  Those  big  doctors  usu- 
ally have  hearts  to  match.  I  told  you  there  are  gen- 
erous people  who  give  lots  of  money  to  hospitals." 

"  And  I  guess  the  hospitals  pay  the  doctors  then," 
offered  the  woman. 

"  I  guess  so,"  Phoebe  agreed.  Her  conscience  smote 
her  for  the  deception  she  was  practicing  on  the  dear 
white-capped  woman.  "  But  what's  the  use  of  strain- 
ing at  every  little  gnat  of  a  falsehood,"  she  thought, 
"  when  I'm  swallowing  camels  wholesale  ?  " 

She  managed  to  secure  a  short  interview  with  Dr. 
Munster  before  the  examination  of  Mother  Bab's  eyes. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  what  the  operation  is  going  to 
cost,  hospital  charges  and  all,"  she  said  frankly. 

"  At  least  five  hundred  dollars." 

Phoebe's  year  in  the  city  had  taught  her  many  things. 
She  showed  no  surprise  at  the  amount  named.  "  That 
will  be  satisfactory,  Dr.  Munster.  But  I  want  to  ask 
you,  please  don't  tell  Moth — Mrs.  Eby  anything  about 
it.  I — it's  to  be  paid  by  a  friend.  I  know  Mrs.  Eby 
would  almost  faint  if  she  knew  so  much  money  was 
going  to  be  spent  for  her.  She  knows  that  many  hos- 
pitals have  free  rooms  and  thinks  some  operations  are 
free.  I  left  her  under  that  impression.  You  under- 
stand?" 

The  big  doctor  understood.     "  Yes,  I  see.     Well, 


THE  ONE  CHANCE  317 

we'll  run  this  one  chance  to  cover  and  make  a  fight. 
I  wish  I  could  promise  more,"  he  said. 

"  Thank  you.  I  know  you'll  succeed.  I'm  sure 
she'll  see  again !  " 

True  to  his  promise  Dr.  Munster  answered  Mother 
Bab  so  tactfully  that  she  came  out  of  his  office  feeling 
that  '"  the  physician  is  the  flower  of  our  civilization, 
that  cheerfulness  and  generosity  are  a  part  of  his 
virtues." 

The  optimism  in  Phoebe's  heart  tinged  the  blind 
woman's  with  its  cheery  faith.  "  I  figure  it  this  way," 
the  girl  said ;  "  we'll  do  all  we  can  and  then  if  we  fail 
there's  time  enough  to  be  resigned  and  say  it's  God's 
will." 

"  Phoebe,  you're  a  wonderful  girl !  Your  name 
means  shining,  and  that  just  suits  you.  You're  doing 
so  much  for  me.  Why,  you  didn't  even  want  to  let  me 
pay  your  carfare  down  here !  " 

The  girl  winced  again.  "  I  must  learn  to  wince 
without  showing  it,"  she  thought,  "  for  after  she  sees 
she'll  keep  saying  such  things  and  I  can't  spoil  it  all  by 
letting  her  know  the  truth." 

Perhaps  the  optimistic  words  of  Phoebe  rang  in  the 
ears  of  the  big  doctor  as  he  bent  over  Mother  Bab's 
sightless  eyes  and  began  the  tedious  operation.  His 
hands  moved  skilfully,  with  infinite  precision,  cutting 
to  the  infinitesimal  fraction  of  an  inch. 

Afterward,  when  Mother  Bab  had  been  taken  away, 
he  sought  Phoebe.  "  I  hope,"  he  said,  "  that  your 
faith  was  not  unwarranted,  though  I  can't  promise 
anything  yet." 


318  PATCHWORK 

"  Oh,  I'm  surer  now  than  ever !  "  the  girl  said  hap- 
pily. 

But  at  times,  in  the  days  of  waiting,  her  heart  ached. 
What  if  the  operation  had  failed,  what  if  Mother  Bab 
would  have  to  bear  cruel  disappointment?  All  the 
natural  buoyancy  of  the  girl's  nature  was  required  to 
bear  her  through  the  trying  days  of  waiting.  With 
the  dawning  of  the  day  upon  which  the  bandage  should 
be  removed  and  the  truth  known  Phoebe's  excitement 
could  not  be  restrained. 

"  I  can't  wait ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  want  to  be 
right  there  when  he  takes  it  off.  I  want  you  to  see 
me  first,  since  David  isn't  here." 

Long  after  that  day  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  could 
hear  Mother  Bab's  glad,  sweet  voice  saying,  "I  can  see!" 

"I  can  see!"  The  words  were  electric  in  their 
effect.  Phoebe  gave  an  ecstatic  "  Oh !  "  then  hushed 
as  her  lips  trembled. 

"  You  win,"  the  big  doctor  said  to  her. 

"  Oh,  no,  not  I !  You !  But  I  knew  she'd  see 
again ! " 

"  She  sees  again,  but,"  he  cautioned,  "  Mrs.  Eby, 
there  must  be  no  reading  or  sewing  or  any  close  work 
to  strain  your  eyes." 

"  Oh,  doctor,  it's  enough  just  to  see  again !  I  can 
do  without  the  reading  and  writing,  for  Phoebe,  here, 
does  all  that  for  me.  And  I'll  not  miss  the  sewing. 
I'm  glad  I  can  potter  around  the  garden  again  and 
plant  flowers  and  see  them  and  " — her  voice  broke — 
"  I  think  it's  wonderful  there  are  men  like  you  in  the 
world!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

BUSY  DAYS 

THE  news  of  the  operation  spread  quickly  and  with 
it  spread  the  interesting  information  that  Mother  Bab 
was  keeping  her  sight  as  a  surprise  for  David.  So  it 
happened  that  no  letters  to  him  contained  the  news, 
that  even  the  town  paper  refrained  from  printing  the 
item  of  heart  interest  and  David's  surprise  was  un- 
spoiled. 

His  letters  to  Mother  Bab  were  long  and  interesting 
and  always  required  frequent  re-reading  for  the 
mother. 

"  I  wanted  to  read  that  letter  awful  bad,"  she  con- 
fessed to  Phoebe  one  day,  "  but  I  didn't.  I'm  not 
taking  any  chances  with  my  eyes.  I'm  too  glad  to  be 
able  to  see  at  all.  The  letter  came  this  morning  and 
Phares  read  it  for  me,  but  I  want  to  hear  it  again. 
Will  you  read  it,  Phoebe  ?  Did  David  write  to  you  this 
week  yet  ?  " 

"  No."  The  girl  felt  the  color  surging  to  her  cheeks. 
"  He  doesn't  write  to  me  very  often.  He  knows  I 
read  your  letters." 

"Ach,  yes.  I  guess  he's  busy,  too.  It's  a  big 
change  for  him  to  be  learning  to  be  a  sailor  when  he 
always  had  his  feet  on  dry  land.  But  read  the  letter; 
it's  a  nice  big  one." 


320  PATCHWORK 

Phoebe's  clear  laughter  joined  Mother  Bab's  at  one 
paragraph:  "Do  you  remember  the  blue  sailor  suits 
you  used  to  make  for  me  when  I  was  a  tiny  chap? 
And  once  you  made  me  a  real  tarn  and  I  was  proud  as 
•a  peacock  in  it.  Well,  since  I'm  here  and  wearing  a 
sailor  suit  I  feel  like  a  masculine  edition  of  Alice  in 
Wonderland  when  she  felt  herself  growing  bigger  and 
bigger  and  I  wonder  sometimes  if  I'll  shrink  back 
again  and  be  just  that  little  boy." 

Another  portion  of  the  letter  set  Phoebe's  voice 
trembling  as  she  read,  "  I  must  tell  you  again,  mother, 
how  thankful  I  am  that  you  made  it  so  much  easier  for 
me  to  go  than  I  dreamed  it  could  be.  You  are  so  fine 
about  it.  With  a  mother  as  plucky  as  you  I  can't  very 
well  be  a  jelly-fish.  It's  great  to  have  a  mother  one 
has  to  reach  high  to  live  up  to." 

"  Just  like  David,"  said  Phoebe  as  she  laid  the  letter 
aside.  "  Of  course  I  think  war  is  dreadful,  but  the 
training  is  going  to  do  wonders  for  many  of  the  men." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  white-capped  woman.  "  Out  of  it 
some  good  will  come.  Selfishness  is  going  to  be  erased 
clean  from  the  souls  of  many  people  by  the  time  war 
is  over." 

"  But  we  must  pay  a  big  price  for  all  we  gain 
from  it." 

"  Yes — I  wonder — I  guess  Davie  will  be  going  over 
soon.  He  said,  you  know,  that  if  we  don't  hear  from 
him  for  a  while  not  to  worry.  I  guess  that  means  he 
thinks  he'll  be  going  over." 

When,  at  length,  news  came  from  the  other  side  it 
was  Phoebe  who  was  the  bringer  of  the  tidings. 


BUSY  DAYS  321 

"  Oh,  Mother  Bab,"  she  cried  breathlessly  one  day 
in  autumn  as  she  ran  back  from  the  gate  after  a  visit 
from  the  postman,  "  it's  a  letter  from  France!  " 

Phares  Eby  and  his  mother  ran  at  the  news  and  the 
four  stood,  an  eager  group,  as  Phoebe  opened  the  letter. 

"Read  it,  Phoebe!  He's  over  safely!"  Mother 
Bab's  voice  was  eager. 

"  I — I  can't  read  it.  I'm  too  excited.  I  can't  get 
my  breath.  You  read  it,  Phares." 

The  preacher  read  in  his  slow,  calm  way. 

"  Somewhere  in  France. 
"DEAR  MOTHER: 

"  You  see  by  the  heading  I'm  safe  over  here.  I 
can't  tell  you  much  about  the  trip — no  use  wearing  out 
the  censor's  pencils.  The  sea's  wonderful,  but  I  like 
dry  land  better.  I'm  on  dry  land  now,  in  a  quaint 
French  village  where  the  streets  run  up  hill  and  the 
people  wear  strange  costumes.  The  women  wash 
their  clothes  by  beating  them  on  stones  in  the  brook — 
how  would  the  Lancaster  County  women  like  that  ?  " 

It  was  a  long,  chatty  letter  and  it  wanned  the  heart 
of  the  mother  and  interested  Phoebe  and  the  others 
who  heard  it. 

"  He's  a  great  David,"  the  preacher  said  as  he 
handed  the  letter  to  Phoebe.  "  I  suppose  you'll  have 
to  read  it  over  and  over  to  Aunt  Barbara." 

He  looked  at  the  girl  as  he  spoke.  Her  high  color 
and  shining  eyes  spoke  eloquently  of  her  interest  in 
the  letter.  "  Ah,"  he  thought,  "  I  believe  she  still  likes 
Davie  best.  I'm  sure  she  does." 

The  preacher  had  been  greatly  changed  by  the  events 


322  PATCHWORK 

of  the  past  year.  He  would  always  be  a  bit  too  strict 
in  his  views  of  life,  a  bit  narrow  in  many  things. 
Nevertheless,  he  was  changed.  He  was  less  harsh  in 
his  opinions  of  others  since  he  had  seen  and  heard  how 
thousands  who  were  not  of  his  religious  faith  had  gone 
forth  to  lay  down  their  lives  that  the  world  might  be 
made  a  decent  place  in  which  to  live.  He,  Phares  Eby, 
preacher,  had  formerly  denounced  all  that  pertained  to 
actors  and  the  theatre,  yet  tears  had  coursed  down  his 
cheeks  as  he  had  read  the  account  of  a  famous  come- 
dian who  had  given  his  only  son  for  the  cause  of  free- 
dom and  who  was  going  about  in  the  camps  and  in  the 
trenches  bringing  cheer  to  the  men.  As  the  preacher 
read  that  he  confessed  to  himself  that  the  comedian, 
familiar  as  he  was  with  footlights,  was  doing  more 
good  in  the  world  than  a  dozen  Phares  Ebys.  That 
one  incident  swept  away  some  of  the  prejudice  of  the 
preacher.  He  knew  he  could  never  sanction  the  do- 
ings so  many  people  indulge  in  but  he  felt  at  the  same 
time  that  those  same  pleasures  need  not  have  a  damn- 
ing influence  upon  all  people. 

Phoebe  noted  the  change  in  him.  She  felt  like  a 
discoverer  of  hidden  treasure  when  she  heard  of  the 
influence  he  was  exerting  in  behalf  of  the  Red  Cross 
and  Liberty  Loans.  But  she  was  finding  hidden  treas- 
ures in  many  places  those  days.  Strenuous,  busy  days 
they  were  but  they  held  many  revelations  of  soul 
beauty. 

Every  link  with  Phcebe's  former  life  in  Philadelphia 
was  broken  save  the  one  binding  her  to  Virginia. 
That  friendship  was  too  precious  to  be  shattered.  The 


BUSY  DAYS  323 

country  girl  had  written  a  long  letter  to  the  city  girl, 
telling  of  the  decision  to  give  up  the  music  lessons. 
"  My  dear,  dear  friend,"  she  wrote  frankly,  "  you  tried 
to  keep  me  from  being  hurt,  but  I  wouldn't  see.  How 
I  must  have  worried  you  and  how  foolish  I  was!  I 
know  better  now.  I  do  not  regret  my  winter  in  the 
city  and  I  do  appreciate  all  you  did  for  me,  but  I  am 
happy  to  be  back  on  the  farm  again.  I'm  afraid  I 
tried  to  be  an  American  Beauty  rose  when  I  was  meant 
to  be  just  some  ordinary  wild  flower  like  the  daisy  or 
even  the  common  yarrow.  I  owe  so  much  to  you. 
We  must  always  be  friends." 

One  day  in  late  summer  Phoebe  fairly  radiated  joy 
as  she  hurried  up  the  hill  and  ran  down  the  road  to  the 
garden  where  Mother  Bab  was  gathering  larkspur 
seeds. 

"  Oh,  Mother  Bab,  I've  such  good  news  about 
Granny  Hogendobler  and  Old  Aaron !  " 

"  Come  in,  tell  me !  " 

"  I've  been  to  town  and  stopped  to  see  Granny. 
You  know  Old  Aaron  and  their  boy  Nason  fell  out 
years  ago  about  something  the  boy  said  about  the  flag 
and  was  too  stubborn  to  take  back." 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

"  It  was  foolishness  on  the  part  of  the  father,  of 
course,  for  he  should  have  known  boys  say  things  they 
don't  mean.  Well,  the  two  kept  on  acting  all  these 
years  like  strangers.  The  old  man  grew  bitter.  Last 
year  when  the  boys  went  to  Mexico  he  said  that  if  he 
had  a  son  instead  of  a  blockhead  he'd  be  sending  a  boy 
to  do  his  share  down  there.  It  almost  killed  him  to 


324  PATCHWORK 

think  of  his  boy  sitting  back  while  others  went  and 
defended  the  flag.  Well,  Granny  said  yesterday  she 
was  in  the  yard  and  she  heard  the  gate  click.  She 
didn't  pay  any  attention  for  she  knew  Old  Aaron  was 
in  the  front  yard  under  the  arbor.  But  then  she  heard 
a  cry  and  ran  to  see,  and  there  was  Old  Aaron  with  his 
arms  around  a  big  fellow  dressed  in  a  soldier  uniform, 
and  when  the  man  turned  his  head  it  was  Nason! 
Granny  said  it  was  the  greatest  day  in  their  lives  and 
paid  up  for  all  the  unhappy  days  when  Old  Aaron  was 
cross  and  said  mean  things  about  Nason.  Nason  had 
just  a  day  to  stay,  but  they  made  a  day  of  it.  Granny 
said, '  I-to-goodness,  but  we  had  a  time !  Aaron  wanted 
to  kill  a  chicken,  for  Nason  likes  chicken  so  much,  but  I 
knew  that  Aaron  was  so  excited  he'd  like  as  not  only 
cripple  the  poor  thing,  so  I  said  I'd  kill  it  while  they 
talked.  I  made  stuffing  with  onions  in,  like  Nason 
likes,  and  I  had  just  baked  a  snitz  pie  and  I  tell  you 
we  had  a  good  dinner.  But  I  bet  them  two  didn't 
know  what  they  ate,  for  they  were  all  the  time  talking 
about  the  war  and  bombs  and  Gettysburg  and  France 
till  I  didn't  know  what  they  meant.' ' 

"  My,  I'm  glad  for  Granny  and  Old  Aaron,"  Mother 
Bab  said. 

"And  what  do  you  think!"  Phoebe  went  on. 
"  They  are  changing  the  name  of  Prussian  Street,  and 
some  are  talking  of  changing  the  name  of  the  town, 
but  I  hope  they  won't  do  that." 

"  No,  it  would  be  strange  to  have  to  call  it  some- 
thing else  after  all  these  years." 

"  I  think  it's  a  grand  joke,"  said  Phoebe,  "  that  this 


BUSY  DAYS  325 

little  town  was  founded  by  a  German  and  yet-the  town 
is  strong  American  and  doing  its  best  to  down  the 
Potsdam  gang.  The  people  of  Lancaster  County  are 
loyal  to  Old  Glory  and  I'm  glad  I  belong  here." 

She  appreciated  her  goodly  heritage,  not  with  any 
Pharisaical  exultation  but  with  honest  gratitude. 

"  I  have  learned  many  things,  Mother  Bab,  and  this 
is  one  of  the  big  things  I've  learned  lately:  to  be  ever- 
lastingly thankful  to  Providence  for  setting  me  down 
on  a  farm  where  I  could  spend  a  childhood  filled  with 
communications  with  nature.  I  never  before  realized 
what  blessings  I've  had  all  the  years  of  my  life.  Why, 
I've  had  chickens  to  play  with  and  feed,  cows  and 
wobbly  calves  to  pet,  birds  to  love  and  learn  about, 
clear  streams  to  wade  in  and  float  daisies  on,  meadows 
to  play  in,  hills  to  run  down  while  the  dust  went '  spif  ' 
under  my  bare  feet.  And  I've  had  flowers,  thousands 
of  wild  flowers,  to  find  and  carry  home  or,  if  too  frail 
to  bear  carrying  home,  like  the  delicate  spring  beauty 
and  the  bluet,  just  to  look  at  and  admire  and  turn  again 
to  look  at  as  I  went  out  of  the  woods.  My  whole 
childhood  has  been  a  wonderful  one  but  I  was  too  blind 
to  see  the  wonder  of  it.  I  see  now!  But,  Mother 
Bab,  I  don't  see,  even  yet,  that  I  should  wear  plain 
clothes.  I've  been  thinking  about  it  lately.  I  do  be- 
lieve, though,  that  the  plain  way  is  a  good  way. 
Many  people  enjoy  the  simple  service  of  the  meeting- 
house more  than  they  would  enjoy  a  more  complex 
form  of  worship.  I  feel  so  restful  and  peaceful  when 
I'm  in  a  meeting-house,  so  near  to  the  real  things,  the 
things  that  count." 


326  PATCHWORK 

Mother  Bab  answered  only  a  mild  "  Yes,"  but  her 
heart  sang  as  she  thought,  "  I  believe  she'll  be  plain 
some  day,  she  and  David.  Perhaps  they'll  come  to- 
gether. But  I'll  not  worry  about  them ;  I  know  their 
hearts  are  right." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 
DAVID'S  SHARE 

ANOTHER  June  came  with  its  roses  and  perfume, 
but  there  was  no  Feast  of  Roses  in  Greenwald  that 
June  of  1918.  Phoebe  regretted  the  fact,  for  she  felt 
that  even  in  a  war-racked  world,  with  the  multiple 
duties  and  anxiety  and  suffering  of  many  of  its  people, 
there  should  still  be  time  for  a  service  as  beautiful  and 
inspiring  as  the  Feast  of  Roses. 

But  all  thoughts  of  it  or  similar  omissions  were 
crowded  into  the  background  one  day  when  the  news 
came  to  Mother  Bab  that  David  had  been  wounded  in 
France. 

The  official  telegram  flashed  over  the  wire  and  in 
due  time  came  a  letter  with  more  satisfying  details. 
The  letter  was  characteristic  of  David :  "  I  suppose 
you  heard  that  the  Boche  got  me,  but  he  didn't  get  all 
of  me,  just  one  leg.  What  hurts  me  most  is  the  fact 
that  I  didn't  get  a  few  Huns  first  or  do  some  real  thing 
for  the  cause  before  I  got  knocked  out.  I  know  you'll 
feel  better  satisfied  if  I  tell  you  all  about  it.  Several 
of  the  other  boys  and  I  left  the  town  where  we  were 
stationed  and  went  to  Paris  for  a  few  days.  It  was 
our  first  pleasure  trip  since  we  came  to  this  side.  We 
gazed  upon  the  things  we  studied  about  in  school — 


328  PATCHWORK 

Eiffel  Tower,  Notre  Dame,  and  so  forth.  Later  we 
went  to  a  railroad  station  where  refugees  were  coming 
in,  fleeing  from  the  invading  Huns.  I  can't  ever  for- 
get that  sight!  Women  and  children  they  were,  but 
such  women  and  children!  Women  who  had  gone 
through  hell  and  children  who  had  seen  more  horror 
in  their  few  years  that  we  can  ever  dream  possible. 
Terror  and  suffering  have  lodged  shadows  in  their  eyes 
till  one  wonders  if  some  of  them  will  ever  smile  or 
laugh  again.  Many  of  them  were  wounded  and  in 
need  of  medical  care.  They  carried  with  them  their 
sole  possessions,  all  of  their  belongings  they  could 
gather  and  take  with  them  as  they  rushed  away  from 
the  hordes  of  the  enemy  soldiers.  We  helped  to  place 
them  into  Red  Cross  vans  to  be  taken  to  a  safe  place 
in  the  southern  part  of  the  country.  As  we  were  put- 
ting them  into  the  vans  the  signal  came  that  an  air  raid 
was  on.  The  subways  are  places  for  refuge  during 
the  raids,  so  we  hurried  them  out  of  the  vans  and  into 
subways.  They  all  got  in  safely  but  I  was  a  bit  too 
slow.  I  got  knocked  out  and  my  right  leg  was  so 
badly  splintered  that  I'm  better  off  without  it.  The 
thing  worries  me  most  is  that  I'll  be  sent  home  out  of 
the  fight  before  I  fairly  got  into  it." 

"Oh,  Mother  Bab,"  Phoebe  said  sobbingly,  "his 
right  leg's  gone !  " 

"  It  might  be  worse.  But — I  wish  I  could  be  with 
him." 

"  But  isn't  it  just  like  him,"  said  Phcebe  proudly, 
"  to  write  as  though  it  was  carelessness  caused  the  acci- 
dent, when  we  know  he  got  others  to  safety  and  never 


DAVID'S  SHARE 

thought  of  himself.  He  was  just  as  brave  as  the  boys 
who  fight." 

"  Yes.  There  is  still  much  to  be  thankful  for. 
Many  mothers  will  get  sadder  news  than  mine.  You 
must  write  him  a  long  letter." 

It  was  a  long  letter,  indeed,  that  the  mother  dictated 
to  her  boy.  When  it  was  written  Phoebe  added  a  little 
postscript,  "  David,  I'm  mighty  proud  of  you! "  To 
this  he  responded,  "  Thank  you  for  your  pride  in  me, 
but  don't  you  go  making  a  hero  of  me ;  I  can't  live  up 
to  that  when  I  get  home.  Guess  I'll  be  sent  back  as 
soon  as  my  leg  is  healed.  Uncle  Sam  has  no  need  of 
me  here  since  I  bungled  things  and  left  a  leg  in  Paris. 
I'll  have  to  do  the  rest  of  my  bit  on  the  farm.  I  wasn't 
a  howling  success  as  a  farmer  when  I  had  two  legs, 
but  perhaps  my  luck  has  turned.  I'm  going  to  raise 
chickens  and  do  my  best  to  make  the  little  farm  a 
paying  one." 

"  He's  the  same  cheerful  David,"  thought  the  girl, 
"  and  we'll  have  to  keep  cheerful  about  it,  too." 

But  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  continue  steadfast  in 
cheerfulness  during  the  long  days  of  the  summer. 
Phoebe  and  Mother  Bab  shared  the  anxiety  of  many 
others  as  the  news  came  that  the  armies  of  the  enemy 
were  pushing  nearer  to  Paris,  nearer,  and  nearer,  with 
the  Americans  and  their  allies  fighting  like  demons 
and  contesting  every  inch  of  the  ground.  A  fear  rose 
in  Phoebe — what  if  the  Germans  should  reach  Paris, 
what  if  they  should  win  the  war!  "  But  it  can't  be!  " 
she  thought. 

Her  confidence  was  not  unwarranted.     Soon  came 


330  PATCHWORK 

the  turn  of  the  tide  and  the  German  drive  was  checked. 
One  July  day  shrieking  whistles,  frenzied  ringing  of 
bells,  impromptu  parades  and  waving  flags,  spread  the 
news  that  "  America's  contemptible  little  army  "  was 
helping  to  push  the  Germans  back,  back! 

"  It's  the  beginning  of  the  end  for  the  Germans," 
said  Phoebe  jubilantly  as  she  ran  to  Mother  Bab  with 
the  news.  "If  they  once  start  running  they'll  sprint 
pretty  lively.  We'll  have  to  tell  David  about  the  ex- 
citement in  town  when  the  whistles  blew — but,  ach,  I 
forgot!  He  won't  think  that  was  much  excitement 
after  he's  been  in  real  excitement." 

Mother  Bab  laughed  with  the  girl.  "  But  we'll  have 
lots  to  tell  him  when  he  comes  back,"  she  said.  "  And 
won't  he  be  glad  I  can  see ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 
DAVID'S  RETURN 

IT  was  October  of  1918  when  David  Eby  alighted 
from  the  train  at  Greenwald  and  started  out  the  coun- 
try road  to  his  home.  He  could  not  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  run  into  the  yard  of  the  gray  farmhouse  and 
into  the  kitchen  where  Aunt  Maria  and  Phoebe  were 
working. 

"David!" 

"Why,  David!" 

The  cries  came  gladly  from  the  two  women  as  he 
bounded  over  the  sill  and  extended  his  hand,  first  to  the 
older  woman,  then  to  Phoebe. 

"  I  just  had  to  stop  in  here  for  a  minute!  Then  I 
must  run  up  the  hill  to  mother.  This  place  looks  too 
good  to  pass  by.  How  are  you?  You're  both  look- 
ing fine." 

"  Ach,  we're  well,"  Aunt  Maria  had  to  answer, 
Phoebe  remaining  speechless.  "  But  why,  David ! 
You  got  two  legs  and  no  crutches !  I  thought  you  lost 
a  leg  " 

"  I  did,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  but  Uncle  Sam  gave  me 
another  one." 

"  Why,  abody'd  hardly  know  it.     Ain't,  Phoebe,  he 


332  PATCHWORK 

just  limps  a  little?  Now  I  bet  your  mom'll  be  glad  to 
see  you — to  have  you  back  again,  I  mean." 

"  Yes.  I  can't  wait  to  get  up  the  hill.  I  must  go 
now.  I'll  be  down  later,  Phoebe,"  he  added. 

"  All  right,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  Ach,  Phoebe,"  Aunt  Maria  exclaimed  after  he  left, 
"  did  you  hear  me  ?  I  almost  give  it  away  that  his 
mom  can  see.  Abody  can  be  awful  dumb  still!  But 
won't  he  be  glad  when  he  knows  that  she  ain't  blind! 
She  can  see  him  again.  Ach,  Phoebe,  it's  lots  of  nice 
people  in  the  world,  for  all.  It  makes  abody  feel  good 
to  know  them  two  are  havin'  a  happy  time." 

"  I'm  so  glad  for  both  I  could  sing." 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  woman ;  "  I'm  glad  too,  and  I 
believe  I  could  help  you  to  holler." 

As  David  climbed  the  hill  by  the  woodland  he 
thought  musingly,  "  Strikes  me  Phoebe  didn't  seem 
extra  glad  to  see  me.  Perhaps  she  was  just  surprised, 
perhaps  my  being  crippled  changed  her.  Oh,  Phoebe, 
I  want  you  more  than  ever!  I  wonder — is  it  some 
nerve  to  ask  you  to  marry  a  cripple  ?  " 

However,  all  disquieting  thoughts  were  forgotten  as 
he  reached  the  summit  of  the  hill  and  saw  his  boyhood 
home. 

He  whistled  his  old  greeting  whistle.  At  the  sound 
of  it  Mother  Bab  ran  to  the  door. 

"  It's  David  come  home ! "  she  cried,  her  renewed 
eyes  turned  to  the  road,  her  hands  outstretched. 

"  I'm  back,  mommie !  "  he  called  before  his  running 
feet  could  take  him  to  her.  But  as  he  held  her  again 
to  his  heart  there  were  no  words  adequate  for  the 


DAVID'S  RETURN  333 

greeting.  Their  joy  was  great  enough  to  be  inarticu- 
late for  a  while. 

"  But,  Davie,"  the  mother  said  after  a  long  silence, 
"  you  come  running !  You  have  no  crutches !  " 

"  Why,  mommie !  "  There  was  questioning  won- 
der in  his  voice.  "  How  do  you  know  ?  You  couldn't 
see !  You  are  blind !  " 

"  Oh,  Davie,  not  any  more !     I  can  see !  " 

"  You  can  see?  "  He  put  a  hand  at  each  side  of  the 
white-capped  head  and  looked  into  her  eyes.  They 
were  not  the  dull,  half-staring  eyes  of  blindness  but 
eyes  lighted  by  loving  recognition. 

Again  words  failed  him  as  he  swept  her  into  his 
arms.  But  he  could  not*  long  be  silent.  "  Tell  me," 
he  cried.  "  I  must  know !  What  miracle — who — 
how — who  did  it  ?  When  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Davie,  you're  not  changed  a  bit !  Same  old 
question  box !  But  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

Throughout  the  story  Mother  Bab  told  ran  the 
name  of  Phoebe.  "  Phoebe  planned  it  all,  Phoebe  made 
the  arrangements  with  the  doctor,  Phoebe  took  me 
down  to  Philadelphia,  Phoebe  was  there  when  I  found 
I  could  see  " — it  was  Phcebe,  Phoebe,  till  the  man  felt 
his  heart  singing  the  name. 

"  Isn't  she  going  on  with  her  music  lessons  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  I  was  afraid  she'd  be  in  the  city  when  I  got 
back." 

"  She's  given  them  up.  It  ain't  like  her  to  begin  a 
thing  and  get  tired  of  it  so  soon.  All  at  once  after  we 
came  back  from  Philadelphia  she  said  she  had  enough 
of  music,  she  was  tired  of  it,  and  was  going  to  stay  at 


334  PATCHWORK 

home  and  be  useful.  I'm  glad  she's  not  going  off 
again,  for  it  gets  lonesome  without  her.  You  stopped 
to  see  her  on  the  way  up  ?  " 

"  Yes,  just  a  minute.  I'm  going  down  again  later. 
She  hardly  said  two  words  to  me." 

"  You  took  her  by  surprise,  I  guess.  Give  her  a 
chance  and  she'll  ask  you  a  hundred  questions." 

But  when  he  paid  the  promised  visit  to  Phoebe  he 
was  again  disappointed  by  her  lack  of  the  old  com- 
radely friendliness.  She  shared  his  joy  at  Mother 
Bab's  restored  sight  but  when  he  began  to  thank  her 
for  her  part  in  it  she  disclaimed  all  credit  and  asked 
questions  to  lead  him  from  the  subject  of  the  operation. 
The  girl  seemed  interested  in  all  he  said  yet  there  was 
a  restraint  in  her  manner.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
life  David  was  baffled  by  her  attitude.  As  he  climbed 
the  hill  again  he  thought,  "  Now,  what's  the  matter 
with  Phoebe  ?  Was  she  or  wasn't  she  glad  to  see  me  ? 
I  couldn't  tell  her  I  love  her  when  she  acts  like  that ! 

And  I'm  a  cripple,  and  she's  beautiful Oh,  my 

mind's  in  a  muddle!  But  one  thing's  clear — I  want 
Phoebe  Metz  for  my  wife." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

"A  LOVE  THAT  LIFE  COULD  NEVER  TIRE  " 

THE  next  morning  Phares  Eby  called  David,  "Wait, 
I  want  to  see  you.  I — David,"  the  preacher  began 
gravely,  "  perhaps  I  shouldn't  tell  you,  but  I  really 
think  I  ought.  Do  you  know  all  Phoebe  did  for  your 
mother  while  you  were  gone  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes.  Mother  told  me.  Phoebe  was  lovely 
to  her.  She's  been  great!  Writing  her  letters  and 
doing  ever  so  many  kind  things  for  her." 

"  I  know — but — I  guess  you  don't  know  all  she  did. 
That  story  about  a  great  doctor  operating  for  charity 
didn't  quite  please  me.  I  thought  as  long  as  it  was 
in  the  family  I'd  pay  him  for  what  he  did.  So  I  wrote 
to  him  and  his  secretary  wrote  back  that  the  bill  had 
been  paid  by  a  check  signed  by  Phoebe  Metz — the  bill 
had  been  five  hundred  dollars.  I  guess  that  explains 
her  giving  up  the  music  lessons.  What  a  girl  she  is 
to  make  such  a  sacrifice !  She  don't  know  that  I  know, 
but  I  felt  I  ought  to  tell  you." 

"  Five  hundred  dollars !  Phoebe  did  that  for  us — 
she  paid  it  ?  Oh,  Phares,  I'm  glad  you  told  me !  I'm 
going  to  find  her  right  away  and  thank  her!  You're 
a  brick  for  telling  me !  " 

The  preacher  smiled  as  David  turned  and  ran  down 
the  hill,  but  preachers  are  only  human — he  felt  a  pang 


336  PATCHWORK 

of  pain  as  he  went  back  to  his  work  in  the  field  while 
David  went  to  find  Phoebe. 

David  forgot  for  the  time  that  he  was  crippled  as 
he  ran  limping  over  the  road.  Dressed  in  his  work- 
ing clothes,  his  head  bare  to  the  October  sunlight,  he 
hurried  to  the  gray  farmhouse. 

"  Phoebe  here  ?  "  he  asked  Aunt  Maria. 

"What's  wrong?  Anything  the  matter  at  your 
house  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No.     Nothing's  wrong.     Where's  Phoebe  ?  " 

"Ach,  over  at  the  quarry  again  for  weeds  or  some- 
thing like  she  brings  home  all  the  time." 

"All  right."  He  turned  to  the  gate.  "I'll  find 
her." 

He  half  ran  up  the  sheltered  road  to  the  old  stone 
quarry. 

"  Phoebe,"  he  cried  when  he  caught  sight  of  her  as 
she  stooped  to  gather  goldenrod  that  fringed  the 
woods. 

"Why,  David,  what's  the  matter?"  she  asked  as 
she  stood  erect  and  faced  him. 

"  You  angel !  "  he  cried,  taking  her  hands  in  his  and 
spilling  the  goldenroo^  over  the  ground.  "  You  angel !  " 
he  said  again,  and  the  full  gratitude  of  his  heart  shone 
from  his  eyes.  "You  bought  Mother  Bab's  sight! 
You  gave  up  the  music  lessons  that  she  might  see !  " 

"  How  d'you  know  ?  "  she  challenged. 

"  Oh,  I  know !  "  He  told  her  briefly.  "  That's  all 
true,  isn't  it?" 

"  Yes,"  she  admitted.  "  I  can't  lie  out  of  it  now,  I 
guess.  Though  I've  lied  like  a  trooper  about  it  al- 


"  A  LOVE  LIFE  COULD  NEVER  TIRE  "  337 

ready.  But  you  needn't  get  excited  about  it.  Mother 
Bab's  earned  more  than  that  from  me !  " 

"  Oh,  Phoebe ! "  The  man  could  hardly  refrain 
from  taking  her  in  his  arms.  "  You're  an  angel !  To 
sacrifice  all  that  for  us — it's  the  most  unselfish  thing 
I've  ever  heard  of!  You  gave  her  sight  so  she  could 
see  me.  I  came  right  down  to  bless  you  and  to  thank 
you." 

Other  words  sought  utterance  but  he  fought  them 
back.  Phoebe  must  have  read  his  heart,  for  she  looked 
up  suddenly  and  asked,  "And  you  came  all  the  way 
down  here  just  to  say  thank  you!  There's  nothing 
else " 

Then,  half-ashamed  and  startled  at  her  forwardness, 
her  gaze  dropped. 

But  the  words  had  worked  their  magic.  "  There  is 
something  else ! "  David  cried,  exulting.  "  I  can't 
wait  any  longer  to  tell  you !  I  love  you !  " 

He  held  out  his  arms  and  as  she  smiled  into  his  face 
his  arms  enfolded  her  and  he  knew  that  she  loved  him. 
But  he  wanted  to  hear  the  sweet  words  from  her  lips. 
"  Is  it  so?  "  he  asked.  "  You  do  care  for  me,  you'll 
marry  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Davie,  did  you  think  I  could  live  the  rest  of 
my  life  without  you?  Did  you  think  I  could  love  you 
any  less  because  you're  crippled?  " 

He  flushed.  "  It  seemed  like  working  on  your  sym- 
pathy to  ask  you." 

"And  if  you  hadn't  asked  me,  Davie,"  she  began. 

'''  Yes,  go  on.     If  I  hadn't  asked  you " 

"  /  should  have  asked  you! " 


PATCHWORK 

They  both  laughed  at  that,  but  a  moment  later  were 
serious  as  he  said,  "  Just  the  same,  Phoebe,  it  seems 
presumptuous  for  a  maimed  man  to  ask  a  girl  like  you 
to  marry  him.  You  are  beautiful  and  you  have  a 
wonderful  voice — and  you've  done  such  wonderful 
things  for  Mother  Bab  and  me.  You  have  sacrificed 
so  much " 

"  Stop,  David ! "  she  cried,  her  voice  ominously 
tearful.  "  David,  don't  hurt  me  like  that !  Do  you 
love  me  ?  " 

"  I  do."  His  words  had  all  the  solemnity  of  a 
marriage  vow. 

"  You  know  I  love  you  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Then,  David,  can't  you  see  that  we  love  each  other 
not  only  in  prosperity  but  in  misfortunes  as  well  ?  " 

"  What  a  big  heart  you  have,  dear,  what  a  woman's 
heart!  I  have  two  wonderful  women  in  my  life, 
Mother  Bab  and  you." 

Phoebe  felt  the  delicacy  and  magnitude  of  the 
tribute.  "  I'm  happy,  Davie,"  she  said  softly.  "  I 
feel  so  safe  with  you — no  doubts,  no  fears." 

"  Just  love,"  he  added. 

"  Just  love,"  she  repeated. 

"  Then,  Phoebe  " — how  she  loved  the  name  from 
his  lips — "  you'll  marry  me?  "  He  said  it  as  though 
he  could  not  quite  believe  his  good  fortune.  "  Then 
you  will  marry  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  want." 

"If  I  want!  Oh,  Phoebe,  Phoebe,  I  have  always 
wanted  it!" 


UC  SOUTHERI 


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